


Sweetness

by Systemic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (help), Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Best Bro Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Cat Cafés, Coming Out, Eventual Romance, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Sugawara Koushi, Happy Ending, I don't know how the tags work, I'm doin my best, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Medical Conditions, Minor Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Negotiations, Non-graphic depictions of illness, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Sexual Content, Touching, Trans Character, Trans Nishinoya Yuu, University, Wingman Sugawara Koushi, Wingman Yaku Morisuke, they spend some time talking about what they want in a sexual context idk i'm doin my best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27209137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Systemic/pseuds/Systemic
Summary: “Hey, what’s your favorite thing to do?”Asahi went perfectly still. He looked back at Nishinoya who was giving him an easy smile, no tired eyes this time. It took a second for his brain to catch up to the change in topic; he pulled in a deep breath through his nose during the pause.“I-- I like to bake.”It must have been the right answer because Noya’s face practically lit up, teeth flashed in a grin that was so wide it closed his eyes a little.In which Azumane Asahi stress bakes and Nishinoya Yū is a bike messenger with an invisible disability.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi & Sugawara Koushi, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Nishinoya Yuu & Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Nishinoya Yuu & Yaku Morisuke
Comments: 48
Kudos: 75





	1. Ships

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first fan fiction in 10 years! :'D Please be kind. 
> 
> Wanted to quickly give a tw for occurances of injections and seizures. Neither are described at length, but they are mentioned. 
> 
> Imma be a huge nerd and dedicate this work to Greeny. I literally wouldn't have written it without them. Thank you, my dude.

Azumane Asahi stood on the corner of a pair of relatively quiet streets near Shibuya station, staring at the asphalt in front of him. His portfolio was jammed up under one arm, a leather briefcase by any other name, and he held an empty disposable coffee cup in his opposite hand. The chill of fall hadn’t quite arrived and so he stood in the warmth imposed by sun-absorbing pavement in his loosely-fitted jeans and brown leather shoes - the ones he didn’t love, but that helped him blend in with the office crowd - and a cardigan in warm grey over top of a pale button-up. He stood on the corner, watching the traffic light cycle through its various colors and signals, and quietly wondered to himself what the fuck he was doing. 

His class at Bunka Fashion College was starting in five minutes and he was not walking towards the building. He wasn’t even _facing the right direction._ Instead, he was still as a statue, thinking about the project he needed to submit in a week that he was struggling to even conceptualize. The prompt wasn’t that specific, so he theoretically had free range of what he wanted to put together - but that was the problem. He couldn’t seem to narrow down what he should be thinking about and, as a result, anything he _did_ come up with just didn’t seem _right._

Asahi did not do well when he was spoiled for choice. 

“Hey! Tall guy!” Came a shout from nearby and he blinked. “Man bun!” Okay yeah, that was him. He turned around to search for the source of the voice and managed to look right over its head, though the green striped bicycle helmet designed to look like a watermelon drew his attention sharply downwards. There was a man - a boy? A person - with the biggest eyes he had ever seen, face pale and mouth tight, not 160cm and dragging along a bicycle that looked decidedly too big for him. 

“I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“A-- what?” Asahi replied, brows drawn in behind his thick-rimmed glasses. “I’m kind of--”

“Listen, I know this is rude, but it’s also kind of life or death, so I’m gonna ask you anyways.” 

Asahi closed his mouth. 

“There’s gonna be an ambulance coming around the block in a minute here, and I really need you to wave it down when it does. They probably won’t overshoot us by much, but they might miss if it’s just me.” 

The taller man’s face was painted with alarm.

“An ambulance?! Why is there an ambulance c--?!” He started to ask, but his new companion didn’t let him finish; he was already going about setting the kickstand on his bike.

“Also, I really need you to watch this. If it gets stolen, I’m fucked.” 

Asahi sputtered, gesturing in the vague direction of his school as though that might mean something to this perfect stranger, but his attention was drawn to the next block over. The wail of a siren was within earshot and growing stronger. His focus on it was shaken when a hand reached out to grab his forearm, its grip firm but wavering, and made him turn back to the person in front of him. Those honey-brown eyes were intense when they focused on him but upon second glance, Asahi could see that their pupils were blown out, darkening their gaze. Belatedly, he also realized that this person was sweating - more than was normal for an early fall day - and that they were shaking like a leaf in a heavy wind _._

“One more favor,” the smaller man said and with that stare pinning him down, all Azumane could do was nod. “Try not to freak out. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.” 

This request was the strangest of the three, he decided. How does one _avoid_ freaking out when a person they don’t know is asking them for those sorts of things? Was that even possible? Was this a _normal_ conversation for this person? But even though the kid was shaking and sweating and sickly pale, he flashed a smile that was big enough to reach his eyes. Asahi stared back, mystified, and thought about asking another question but just then, the ambulance lights came into view down the block; an instinctive need to follow directions took over and he pulled away from the stranger, rushing to the curb to wave down the emergency vehicle. 

When he turned around, he realized with shock and a horrified twisting in his gut that the person in the watermelon helmet was on the ground, convulsing. The EMTs rushed over and when they adjusted his body, Asahi caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his inner wrist, four distinct characters spelled out along the small man’s veins in vibrant red ink: 糖尿病の.

\----

Nishinoya Yū woke up with the heat of early-September city sidewalk against his back and blue sky above him. It wasn’t the worst way he had ever woken up, but it wasn’t exactly his favorite - mostly because the confusion that followed after it was harsh and cold. Had he crashed his bike? He became aware of his extremities a little at a time, first his fingers and his toes, feeling creeping back up along his limbs as he tentatively checked his nerve endings. Nothing broken, so at least there was that, he guessed. 

It took a second for him to realize that his vision was black around the edges, his hearing distant; both trickled back in a little at a time. There were people touching him, one holding his wrist and the other his opposite hand, which felt cold. Something about the scene was impossibly familiar, but his fogged-over brain couldn’t quite make the connection until--

Oh, right. 

Noya closed his eyes and let the nausea hit him, the headache colliding with his frontal lobe like a freight train. His sweat was drying cold and he could feel his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest and back. Everything throbbed but especially his brain, rattled against the inside of his skull by the seizure while, undoubtedly, a crowd had amassed around him. Perfect. At least he had had enough of his wits about him to call the ambulance before he passed out. If he hadn’t, that guy might have--

His eyes shot open and his head swiveled, causing the emergency medics around him to startle and his own eyeballs to feel like they were going to explode out of their sockets. He closed them again, brows tense, and waited a moment for the sensation to pass before venturing a more careful search for the poor guy he had dragged into this mess. The reasoning had been sound - he was small and easily missed, especially when passed out behind a line of cars - but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel bad for exposing someone else to it. 

There he was, tall-guy-man-bun, standing off to the side with his bike and his bag and looking like it was his turn to faint. Hoo boy. Yeah, he felt bad about this one. 

The medics asked if he could hear them, if he was alright, and because he wasn’t given a break to answer in between and because he didn’t have a gestural response to sum up his dull, full-body agony, he just nodded. Close enough. 

It took another minute for Yū to be well enough to sit up; he spent it conversing as best he could with the responders, watching in his periphery as the peanut gallery got bored and started to break off. He gave his name, birthdate, diagnosis; they told him that his sugar was in the low twenties and that if it had dropped any farther, he could have died. His meter must have been a different brand, he thought, because it had been registering in the thirties before he called 119. Either way, bad news. He agreed to consult his physician about dosing and the issue was left at that, as though it were that easy. 

The IV was removed from his hand once he could sit up again. Noya had noticed out of the corner of his eye when the man from earlier startled, taking a half-step towards him at his pained expression. It was endearing even though he didn’t come all the way over - that’s what the ambulance crew was for, after all. They made sure he could stand, checked his sugar one last time, encouraged him to eat a meal before going to climb back into their truck, and Nishinoya was left staring at the pavement. He reached up to scratch the back of his head only to jam his fingers against the lip of his bicycle helmet. 

Great.

\----

Asahi watched the proceedings with a mental state somewhere between high-key anxiety and absolute fucking terror. He had never seen someone seize before, at least not that he could remember, but he was certain that he wouldn’t be forgetting this any time soon. The EMTs went about their jobs with practiced finesse, laying the victim on his side to ride out the shaking. One of them had produced an oblong box from a kit of other equipment, withdrawing a syringe and a small vial. An exchange happened between the two that didn’t really make sense to him - it looked like they were injecting the fluid into the vial as opposed to vice versa - but in the end something was still administered through the fabric of what looked to be athletic pants. 

He kept trying to push away the feeling of overwhelming dread that had nestled into his bones, the one that said the man with the pale face and the bright smile was not going to be getting back up again. It wasn’t every day someone just _collapsed_ on the ground like that, was it? And even if people fainted every day, they didn’t fall into a _seizure._ Asahi was absolutely, completely positive that whatever had happened was going to leave him with horrible memories, a deepened fear of speaking to strangers on the street, and a backpack and bicycle that he didn’t know what to do with. 

Despite all that certainty and dread, the person on the ground eventually stirred. His head lolled gently side to side, rocking on the rounded curve of his bike helmet, and then he seemed to wake up all at once - or tried to, anyways. His eyes opened and he whipped his neck around a little too fast, apparently, because it resulted in a look of sharp agony before he could squint at Asahi again. There was recognition in his face and... exhaustion. The absolute depletion of any energy he had ever had, sucked right out of him and spilled all over the city sidewalk. When he tried to sit up, Asahi instinctively jolted forward to help, stopping after just a few steps so that he didn’t get in the way of the EMTs. His job at that moment was entirely bike-related. 

It took more time for the scene to fully dissipate, for straggling lookie-loos to wander off and the medics to load themselves back into their truck. For a moment, the man in the watermelon bicycle helmet stared at the pavement, his frame tense and his shoulders slumped slightly forward. But when he turned around, all Asahi saw was a wide grin set in a still-pale face under eyes that didn't quite match. 

“Hey, I’m uh. I’m sorry, about all that,” the kid said as he bridged the distance between them. “I kind of-- that was a lot to spring on you, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t need the help.” 

Asahi wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. ‘ _Don’t worry about it, I’m only scarred for life’_ seemed unkind in at least two ways, not that lying was that much better. 

“No, I-- I understand,” he lied (half-lied, maybe). Even if he didn’t understand what had happened, he could picture - or _try_ to picture, as actually imagining it made him feel like he might throw up - how hard it must have been to ask a stranger for that kind of help. When he focused on his conversation partner’s face, something painful squeezed around his chest. The creases around those warm brown eyes weren’t smiling, the grin was half-deflated. Panic overtook him but it was interrupted when the smaller man cleared his throat and picked himself back up, forcibly hiking his grin higher into his cheeks. 

“My name’s Nishinoya. Thanks for watching my stuff, man. I really appreciate it.” 

Asahi offered a shaky smile and a nod in return. 

“Azu-- Azumane. And, uh, no problem.” 

A pregnant pause filled the space between them. There was something expectant about it and neither of them seemed capable of looking the other right in the eyes, their focus diverted elsewhere. Nishinoya was the first to break through the invisible wall that was making it hard for them to talk. 

“Hey, I kinda... I gotta go get something to eat, do you think you’d… Could I take you out to lunch or something, like as a thank you?” 

Asahi looked up from the hand that was still clutching his coffee cup for emotional support, not that it was helping, and focused on the insistent amber eyes that were waiting for his answer. There _was_ a class he was supposed to be in, though he would be half an hour late at that point if he decided to go at all. Or maybe he should keep it vague? ‘I’ve got something to do,’ or--

He realized he was trying to come up with an excuse. This was a weird thing to realize, especially since it happened right when his gaze caught on the pair of small, silver balls that sat on either side of the bridge of Nishinoya’s nose. Why was he trying to come up with an excuse? Besides the low thrum of anxiety that was more or less always coursing through him, but he had been making progress with that lately. Maybe it was because of those big, clear eyes, warm and sharp and intense in a way that made the back of his neck hot. 

“I actually, um-- I have to get to class, I’m sorry,” Asahi blurted out. The relief of having avoided plans was short-lived; those creases came back around Nishinoya’s eyes and they weren’t the same ones that showed up when he smiled. 

“No no, that’s cool, I get it. Sorry for, uh… sorry. I’ll let you get back to the life I so rudely interrupted.” The last part had the cadence of a joke, but it looked like he was still struggling to keep himself from appearing downcast. There was an awkward shuffling as the backpack was handed over and the bike retrieved with a grip on its handle and just before he turned to leave, Nishinoya offered a softened version of his usual grin. It hurt to look at. 

“Thank you again for the help. You’re a real lifesaver.” 

Asahi got out just about the quietest _no problem_ he had ever managed, then watched as the small figure got smaller, walking with purpose towards a more populated intersection. 

\----

Nervasahi [14:17]: Daichi something weird just happened 

Thighchi [14:21]: define ‘weird’  
Thighchi [14:21]: like Asahi weird or regular person weird

Nervasahi [14:22]: I don’t think my weird threshold is that low, but I guess both  
Nervasahi [14:22]: I saw someone have a seizure on the street

Thighchi [14:26]: oh shit  
Thighchi [14:26]: are you okay?

Nervasahi [14:27]: like I think he’s okay now but I’m really freaked out 

Thighchi [14:27]: do you need me to come get you? I don’t have to be on duty until later

Nervasahi [14:28]: no I think  
Nervasahi [14:28]: I think I’m okay, I’ll be better when I get to work   
Nervasahi [14:28]: having something to do with my hands will help  
Nervasahi [14:29]: and Suga will be there  
Nervasahi [14:29]: thank you  
Nervasahi [14:29]: I should have said that first  
Nervasahi [14:29]: sorry

Thighchi [14:30]: dude don’t worry about me right now, it’s fine   
Thighchi [14:30]: Asahi I can see you typing and retyping a reply, seriously it’s fine  
Thighchi [14:32]: ASAHI I CAN STILL SEE YOU TYPING WORRY ABOUT YOURSELF INSTEAD

Nervasahi [14:32]: okay! okay, I’m going  
Nervasahi [14:35]: thanks Daichi

\----

The door to a compact second-floor apartment swung open with a _bang!_ that would undoubtedly ruffle the neighbor’s feathers, though the single occupant knew better than to try chastising the offender. The size of his feet didn’t deter him from making a ruckus as he kicked off his shoes somewhat haphazardly, crossed the step up from the genkan, and flounced along the main hallway into the modest living room area. His roommate sat cross-legged on the couch, tapping away at a game on his laptop - a couch that Nishinoya promptly threw himself over the back of, groaning once his face had made emphatic contact with the cushions. 

“Rough day at the office, sweetie?” came a nudge from a man with short-cropped dark hair who seemed somewhat cautiously amused, even as he continued typing away at his computer. No reply was immediately forthcoming, so he paused and reached out a hand to scratch playfully at the back of Noya’s gelled-up hair and tried again. “Scale from ‘I messed up an address and had to bike halfway across town’ to ‘I ran over an elderly lady’, what are we talkin’?” 

“Where does ‘had a seizure in the middle of a Shibuya sidewalk’ fall on that scale?” Yū replied, his voice muffled by fake leather, and felt the man beside him startle and lean away to get a better look at the back of his neck. 

“Oh shit. Dude, are you okay?” Tanaka Ryūnosuke’s amusement evaporated in a rush, leaving behind a very concerned friend. Noya felt a little guilty over the worry in his voice and begrudgingly pushed himself up just far enough to be able to turn his head to the side. 

“If I wasn’t fine I probably wouldn’t have made it home,” he tried, but the flatly unimpressed look he got in return made him sigh heavily and close his eyes again. “Yeah, I’m okay. Called 119 before I went down. Think I skinned my elbow on the pavement and traumatized some poor guy, but he seemed--” _Fine_ wasn’t exactly the word he would use to describe it, so instead he offered a non-committal hand gesture. 

“What did you like, fall on him or some shit?”

“What? No!”

“Not like you’d do much damage fallin’ on anyone over the age of seven or under the age of eighty-five.”

“ _Hey!”_ Noya sputtered, indignance written all over his face. “That is unfair and also rude as hell and also fuck you, I would give trouble to anyone over sixty.” 

Tanaka scoffed exactly once in rebuke before crossing his arms over his chest and watching his long-time best friend haul himself over the back of the couch before sitting down on it. 

“You know we have a perfectly good floor to walk on,” he pointed out, though the smirk he wore painted a much different picture than the tone he was trying to convey. 

“Where’s the fun in _that,_ Ryū?” came a knowingly juvenile retort as Nishinoya settled with his ass nearly off the edge of the seat and his shoulder blades digging hard into the cushions, looking a little self-satisfied - and a bit more like himself. Silence passed between them for a few beats before Tanaka spoke again. 

“Seriously though, you okay? Did you have to leave work? Though I guess you went in pretty early.” 

“Yeah,” Noya sighed, defeat slipping into his tone. “I got there at six so I just took off after, no one complained.”

“Not much to complain about when they know you’ll be back first thing.” 

“I guess.” This time the quiet was uncomfortable; Yū turned to find his friend’s sharp eyes fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“You’re not answerin’ my primary inquiry there, Mr. Nishinoya.” 

The tone was knowing; Noya’s hackles immediately rose. He faced forward again and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. A pause for defense and for thought. 

“I don’t like bein’ seen like that,” he admitted, quiet. His body was tense, including his expression. His features were twisted with an uncharacteristic mix of pain and disgust while he recalled the people who had crowded around, the practiced masks of the EMTs. Azumane’s pale, grim face, brown eyes looking at him as though he might shatter. 

Ryū took a slow, deep breath and turned his attention forward to allow his friend some semblance of privacy. “Yeah, I think I can see why you’d hate that,” he agreed and let it sit for a moment before asking the obvious question. “You talk to your doctor about it?” 

Noya’s shoulders tensed and he sunk a little deeper into the cushions, pushing his lower jaw out mulishly. “Not… I mean there’s not much they can _do,_ it’s just gonna take time to figure out dosages and shit.” 

Tanaka nodded once emphatically and then a second time more shallowly, both of them lapsing into a loaded silence. It was full of leftover implications from old conversations that neither of them especially wanted to revisit. Ryū was the first to break. 

“You ask about gettin’ one of those things?” 

“Yeah, but I’m still waitin’ on approval. It’ll take time.” Both of them sighed almost in perfect sync with the other; it put a crack in the serious air that had been developing, allowing tiny grins to appear on both their faces. The silence this time was amicable and interrupted by Tanaka reaching over to shove Yū in the shoulder, sending him slumping sideways into the couch. He scoffed in exaggerated offense, draping an arm dramatically over his eyes. 

“How cruel you are, Mr. Tanaka!” he wailed, not even trying to hide the affectedness of his tone. “Putting your hands on a delicate, sickly flower such as me--” 

Ryū scoffed and pushed what he could reach - Noya’s hip this time - sending him rolling halfway off the sofa. “The day someone can call you a _delicate flower_ with a straight face, I’ll eat my own slipper.” 

“That is a bold claim, Mr. Tanaka,” Yū shot back from his undignified position with his face jammed against the arm of the couch, his voice slightly muffled but his composure still apparently intact. “I look forward to seeing you follow through on it.” 

“Yeah, well. Gotta get your fiber in somehow,” he mused and his roommate levered himself up just enough to shoot him a look over his shoulder, face exaggeratedly scrunched. 

“Gross.” Nishinoya said and Tanaka reached over and whacked him with the slipper. 

The scene very quickly dissolved into a laughter-filled rally of kicks and swats that landed somewhere on the scale between half-hearted and half-serious until Ryū claimed the safety of his laptop as a priority - _conveniently._ He was still chuckling when he got it re-situated on his knees but he stopped a moment later when he realized that Noya wasn’t moving, having ended up with his lower legs across Ryū’s thighs, arms flaccidly at his sides and face half-pressed into the fake leather of the couch. 

“Darling, did I break you?” he asked, still grinning, but it faded when he didn’t get an answer after a few seconds. Two fingers prodded Noya’s calf to get his attention. “Oi.” It took another few seconds before his roommate said anything, making him even more terrified for what was coming next. 

“There was a guy,” Yū murmured, his eyes staring far off into the distance even while he was facing the back of the couch. 

“A guy?”

“Before I passed out. I called the ambulance but I thought they might miss me if I were alone. There was this guy, I asked him for help.” 

“What, did he-- what did he do?”

“He waved them down, made sure they didn’t drive past,” his voice was still soft - a rarity, particularly when it was a prolonged state. “Watched my bike for me.” 

His mouth wanted to smile. The corners were pulling up just a little, he could feel it. Azumane had seemed like an earnest guy, not least of all because he hadn’t run off with Noya’s stuff; he wanted to remember the glasses and the sweater and the broad shoulders and the dazed way the guy had had about him, but they weren’t the details that stuck the hardest. 

“Looked at me like I was gonna fall apart.” 

Ryū didn’t know what to say to that. He only thought, ‘ _ah, that makes sense,’_ in response to both participants’ perspectives, but he couldn’t say it out loud - not then, not to Nishinoya. Instead he waited a few respectful moments before laying his hand on the sinewy plane of muscle between his friend’s calf and the back of his ankle. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, his own voice kept low; Noya took a deep breath and closed his eyes and Tanaka could practically see him trying to scrape the image off the insides of his eyelids. 

“Nah,” he murmured and Ryū didn’t push, just pat his hand heavily against the other man’s leg and sat there in compassionate silence for a while, their understanding implicit.

\----

By the time Asahi got to his job that night, he was only barely holding it together. Outwardly, he seemed fine - or at least, he hoped so. He was always doing that _thing_ where his serious face made him look like he was going to kill someone (as his friends had helpfully pointed out on a number of occasions). The cafe he worked at was on its usual early-evening break, meaning that he could slip through the back door unaccosted and into the small kitchen. It still smelled like vanilla and chocolate from the night before and coffee from the day and the moment the warmth of it washed over him, the tension in his shoulders began to ease.

Eyes closed. Imagine a stream. The breathing exercise was one he could have done on the street, but it worked better when he was surrounded by the relative quiet inside the protective walls of the kitchen. In his mind, a yarimizu flowed over smooth grey stones, clear and steady. He could hear the soft _blub blub_ of the water, could smell the earthy scent of moss in the garden around it. Breathe in, breathe out. Debris began to collect in the water, fallen leaves of varying colors that flowed by on its winding course. His mind tried to focus on each one, reds and greens and yellows and browns, to catalogue every shape and define what tree it had come from. Breathe in, breathe out. He reminded himself not to cling to each one. They came and went, would continue to come and go; he didn’t need to hold onto them all. Breathe in, breathe out. 

When he opened his eyes again, his mind felt even. Asahi took one more slow, deep breath in through his nose and held it for three seconds before letting it out from between pursed lips. He was okay - and being okay, he figured it was probably about time he got to work. His bag and jacket were stowed on a hook by the back door and his hair taken down and tied back up more tightly. The cardigan came off and so did the button-down, replaced by a t-shirt over his undershirt. Hands got scrubbed vigorously in the sink before he went for his apron and pulled it on over his head, the cafe’s logo emblazoned on the front of the beige canvas in bubbly blue calligraphy: ねこチノ. The sound of a swinging door made him turn around just in time to discover a silver-haired man with knowing hazel eyes and delicate features twisted into a little smile, peeking at him from around a metal rack of shelves. 

“Daichi told you, huh?” Asahi asked, fondness and exasperation in his tone in equal measure - perhaps tilted towards the former. 

“He may have mentioned your traumatic experience, yes.” Sugawara replied warmly, stepping around the industrial restaurant storage to come stand at the kitchen table. It was a tall island made of stainless steel, a rack suspended above to hold a myriad of implements: pastry bags, a conical sieve, a sifter, and various large spatulas and spoons hung from hooks while several pots and pans were situated on top. They blocked the view, so Suga came around the side of the island and held a mug out to Asahi, who smiled wryly down at the nutmeg rendition of a cat that was winking back at him from a bed of cappuccino foam. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Suga asked gently, leaning his hip against the counter. 

Azumane heaved a sigh and let his mind wander over what there was to talk about: the plea for help, the assurance before it happened, the seizure, the thank you, the big eyes and the bright smile and the watermelon helmet and the--

“What do you know about diabetes?” 

This was clearly not what Sugawara had been expecting, judging by his startled blink and verbal stumbling. 

“I-- like the… the thing you get when you’re not… healthy, and stuff?” 

“Yeah that’s-- that’s what I thought too, but I’m not--” Asahi paused, squinting down at the table like it owed him something while he combed through his memories: slight body, toned arms peeking out from beneath t-shirt sleeves, active lifestyle - or active mode of transportation, at least. It didn’t fit. “--I’m not sure.” 

An expectant silence lapsed and after a while Suga broke it, his voice swathed in concern. 

“Asahi?” And after the taller man blinked up at him, looking a little lost, “Are… you okay?”

“I-- yeah,” Azumane nodded a few times (almost more to assure himself than his friend) and tightened his facial expression, bleeding over into something more concerned despite his intentions of appearing resolute. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just thinking about a lot. I’ll be better once I get working, that always helps.” The silver-haired man remained unconvinced, evident in the tilt of his head and the inward press of his brows. After a few beats he drew a breath in and then pushed it back out through his nose, as though deciding on something. 

“As long as you’re sure, I’ll leave you to it.” A slender hand reached out to press against the cafe’s logo on Asahi’s broad chest, a comforting and familiar gesture that eased the bear of a man’s expression immediately.

“I’ll be out front, so... call me if you need help or anything.” 

“Thanks, Suga,” Asahi said and received a warm smile that only just outweighed the concern in those big, hazel eyes. 

“Any time.” 

The kitchen door swung shut behind him and when Asahi was alone again, he heaved a slow sigh, the tension in his shoulders uncoiling as his lungs emptied. Nutmeg cat eyes continued to wink up at him and he let himself smile, nodding to the cat once in greeting before finally taking a sip. His phone was pulled out and connected to a small speaker while he drank. Soft lo-fi music began to play, acting as white noise against the sound of the bell on the front door and the low hum of chatter that came with the cafe opening for business. The kitchen was the exact right kind of calm for him and it translated into seamless movements while he retrieved his necessary equipment and ingredients. 

Flour, eggs, milk, butter. Mix dough, beat butter into a block; roll out pastry, wrap around butter. Fold, turn, wrap, refrigerate. Think about a bleach blonde fringe clinging lazily to a damp forehead. 

Egg whites (dehydrated overnight), castor sugar, almond flour, vanilla, food coloring. Put dry ingredients through food processor, then sieve. Whip egg whites to stiff peaks; fold into dry ingredients and add flavor and color. Pipe onto baking sheet and leave to rest. Think about a small body on a city sidewalk. 

Remove pastry from fridge; roll, turn, fold. Think about golden-brown eyes set above a bright smile.

Butter (softened), confectioner’s sugar, cake flour, baking powder, eggs, vanilla, milk. Sift flour and baking powder together; beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs to butter one at a time, then vanilla. Mix in milk and dry ingredients in alternating portions until just incorporated. Pour into greased pan and bake.

Massive hands worked with a surprising amount of precision, fingers wrapping deftly around delicate tools that were not made for them, and his mind went quiet. The recipe book on the stand in front of him was all but useless; he had produced these same baked goods almost every night for almost a year at that point, in at six-thirty and out at two, five days a week. He could make puff pastry in his sleep. Being in the kitchen late was good, the thrum of activity allowing him to focus through the dark hours where his head would usually be torturing him, silence clawing at him and making it impossible to rest.

His mind still wandered. Where it had previously clung to topics around school, that night there was something further to the forefront of his brain: that tattoo, scrawled in sharp red characters. _Diabetic._ A notice posted - a warning. _Beware of dog._ Or maybe a plea? _See me. Help me. ‘I need to ask you for a favor.’_ Asahi’s hands stilled at the bowl he was working with, one holding it in place while the other gripped a batter-laden spatula. A single line of conversation floated to the top of the pile. 

_Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise._ The surety had been absolute, the tone unwavering even when his whole body was shaking. His eyes had been kind and his smile had been earnest and Asahi didn’t understand how that was all possible with the imminent threat of what had followed. He was so distracted by the thought that it took him a full five seconds to realize that Suga was speaking to him from around the cracked kitchen door. 

“Asahi, everyone’s fed so we’re headed home--”

“Oh, yeah! Get home safe!”

“--text me later, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah of course, you got it.” A concerned glance was cast in his direction and the lumbering baker offered a gentle wave and a muted smile in return: _I might not be okay but I will be._

Suga hesitated over this for a few beats and then nodded, though he clearly wasn’t fully satisfied. He lingered in the doorway for another several seconds before forcing a smile onto his lips and disappearing into the front of the cafe. Asahi watched the door swing shut with a soft _click_ , stared for a moment, then turned on a dime to put his trays of macarons into the oven and think about a watermelon bicycle helmet.

\----

Noya was on the train. He didn’t usually take the train, so this in itself was something of a novel experience. His bike had needed tuning, so he had left it at the shop while he went to the gym, apologizing to his future fellow riders in advance for patronizing the public transportation system afterward. It was unseasonably warm for mid-September, so he wore his fitted black jeans with rips in the knees and a white tank top emblazoned with a stylized version of The Beatles’ _Abbey Road_ album cover. The shirt hid his binder and the accompanying sweatshirt disguised the wiry cords of muscle that made up his biceps, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His left wrist bore a leather cuff with metal studs embedded in it, a matching belt holding his jeans up around his slim hips. Music played through his wireless headphones, his spiked-up dark hair unhidden by the watermelon helmet presently hanging from his backpack strap. 

Rush hour wasn’t his _favorite_ time to be on the Tokyo subway, certainly. He would have much rather been biking, working out the energy that typically built up inside him when he wasn’t moving, wasn’t _doing something._ Surrounded by commuters, he had to force himself to stay still - which, for Noya, was basically impossible. He did it anyways, clenching a hand around his backpack strap and the other around the vertical support rail, watching out the windows as the city went by. 

Something about the other day was still eating at him. Noya wanted to believe it was just the experience of waking up on the pavement after the seizure - but honestly, given his recent track record? That wasn’t much to write home about. It was something else and though he was loath to admit it, Yū was pretty sure he knew what it was. The broad shoulders, the wide chest, the glasses and the scruff - even the man bun stuck in his mind. He wasn’t afraid to say that the guy was _attractive,_ it was just that all those features framed an expression he couldn’t stand, creating a deep rift in his gut that wouldn’t stop twisting as he looked out at the buildings flying past the windows. 

Then, Shibuya station. 

A flood of passengers boarded, as they always did in Shibuya, and he smooshed himself sideways into the metal handrail. His slight figure wasn’t difficult for the other passengers to get past as they rushed on and within the seven seconds the doors stayed open, almost every inch of breathing room in the small compartment became occupied - including the one directly in front of him. His eyes scanned the dark jeans, the beige cardigan, the coffee cup and the messenger bag clutched against a broad chest as though it might fly out of his hand on its own, the patch of scruff and the--

Noya shrank into his shoulders slightly as his gaze snapped up, realizing with a start exactly who he had managed to bump into. Azumane stood staring at the coffee cup in his hand, his brow furrowed and lips pressed into a tight, thin line. The fact that he hadn’t noticed who was standing across from him should have set Nishinoya at ease, but the effect was hampered by that strained expression - even more so than the one he had seen on the guy those weeks before. 

“Hey, Azumane-san,” Yū prompted, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You… okay?” 

\----

Azumane Asahi was not okay. 

Granted, he was never really okay, but that day he was even less okay than normal. He had overslept by almost an hour and missed his first class, hadn’t been able to acquire coffee until lunch time (and then proceeded to spill a good portion of it on his notes in lecture), and just generally had had his routine interrupted in almost every conceivable way - the most recent being the fact that his train was delayed, pulling into Shibuya station only five minutes before he was meant to be at work, which was not early enough for him to get there on time. It was one of those days where _nothing_ was going right and he was barely getting through it by focusing on the idea of being in his little kitchen making macarons. 

The jostling of people crowding onto the train was as jarring as ever, even at his size. He held his breath and did his best to shuffle along without bowling anyone over, his arms held tight to his chest and sides and his shoulders pressed inward in the hopes of making him take up less space. He was grateful that he ended up next to a vertical handrail and took hold of it just before the doors slid shut. The train lurched forward and he finally allowed himself a slow breath. In, out. 

_Hey, Azumane-san._

He nearly jumped out of his skin. The figure in front of him didn’t so much as flinch, honey-brown eyes focusing on him intently, a voice asking if he was okay. It took what felt like an embarrassingly long time for him to place the person he was looking at. The helmet had been such a focal point of his appearance the first time the two had met; the dark, spiked hair that had replaced it seriously threw him for a loop. Blonde bangs saved him, combined with those pretty eyes. 

Wait, did he just think about how Nishinoya had pretty eyes? And how long had it taken for Asahi to recognize him? Was he staring? Oh god, had he just asked a question?

“I-- uh, I’m so sorry, I’m not--” Asahi tried to gesture, realized there was someone immediately to his right and froze up again. Nishinoya’s brows furrowed with expectant concern and the panic got stronger. “--that is, I. H-- Hello, Nishinoya-san, it’s-- it’s very nice to see you again.” His voice must have sounded strangled because the smaller man still looked worried even as a slight smile pulled on the corners of his mouth. Oh god, stop looking at his mouth you absolute--

“Hey man, are you okay?” 

The voice snapped his attention back up to those big brown eyes, the ones so intense they might bore holes right through him. 

“I’m-- yeah, no, I’m, uh...” 

“Yeah, no?”

“Yeah! I mean, yes. Or, that is, I--” The day was catching up with him, suppressed panic coming out in a train car surrounded by strangers - particularly the one really attractive almost-stranger who was staring him down (purely out of kindness, or so it appeared, but still). His chest was tight and he was certain that his neck and face were red because he felt like he was trapped in the oven at work and--

“Hey, what’s your favorite thing to do?” 

Asahi went perfectly still. He looked back at Nishinoya who was giving him an easy smile, no tired eyes this time. It took a second for his brain to catch up to the change in topic; he pulled in a deep breath through his nose during the pause. 

“I-- I like to bake.” 

It must have been the right answer because Noya’s face practically lit up, teeth flashed in a grin that was so wide it closed his eyes a little. 

“Hey, that’s so cool! I can’t cook for shit, might be a low bar but I’m impressed!” His voice was rising in volume; the passengers immediately around him didn’t seem overly pleased with this development. “What’s your favorite thing to bake?” 

Asahi was having trouble acclimating to the shift in conversation, so he reached for things that were familiar. Cookies? Macarons? Muffins? His eyes narrowed as he thought, dragging himself out of the panic so that he could focus. 

“I… I like making petit fours.”

“Petty-what?” An immediate response coupled with a puzzled expression and a sideways head tilt.

“P-- petit fours. They’re like-- they’re like tiny cakes, they have a filling and get covered with a glaze. Making them is really fiddly and I guess kind of annoying but when they come out well, it’s super rewarding.” 

“Whoa.” Nishinoya’s eyes were wide and Asahi could swear the look on his face was amazement. He didn’t feel like he had said anything all that amazing though, so the whole situation was a little perplexing. His shoulders shrugged up around his head like he was trying to hide, a turtle going back into its shell, thoroughly unused to being paid attention to. 

“That sounds so _fancy._ ”

“Oh, uh, does it? I-- I guess they are, kind of, I mean, depending on how you decorate them…” 

“What else do you like to make?” 

“I-- I really enjoy making bread, actually. I’m not that good at it yet, though…”

“Yeah? What kind?” 

The conversation continued in this way for some time. Nishinoya would ask a question and Asahi would answer it, often haltingly. When he was praised, he would blush; this only seemed to encourage Noya, who grew more animated with every topic of discussion. His voice would rise in volume and draw the attention of the people around him until Asahi intervened, whispering a soft _shhh_ and earning a rakish grin in response that did wicked things to his stomach. There were even moments when Azumane would get so invested in his words - talking about meringue was a surefire way to distract him - that he would forget to be apprehensive, thinking instead about sugar and flour and the things he had control over. 

Before he knew it, the speakers above them crackled to life and the announcer’s voice informed them that they were about to pull into Ikebukuro station. Asahi blinked back to reality, glancing out the window at the familiar scenery and then back down into the blinding grin of Nishinoya, whose attention was still rapt. 

“This-- this is my stop,” Azumane managed and Noya perked up, glancing out to check the name scrawled on the platform signs. 

“Oh, cool. I’ll get off with you,” he replied and Asahi didn’t have time to ask the obligatory ‘is this your stop too?’ before the doors were sliding open. A familiar rush of passengers flooded out of the train and instead of being alone, he found a small body next to his, its shoulder occasionally brushing against his chest or arm. He swallowed and tried to keep his head on straight, reaching up to adjust his glasses needlessly as they headed down the stairs towards the station lobby together. Before they hit the gates, Nishinoya paused, prompting his taller companion to stop as well.

“Well, this is where I’m gonna leave ya,” he said cheerfully, wearing a grin that could outshine the sun. 

Asahi was momentarily too dazed to respond. “You-- is this… do you have to make a connection, or..?” The question came out haltingly and tinged with regret. 

“Nah, we passed my stop a while ago. I gotta backtrack.” Noya beamed, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. Asahi stared at him with wide eyes, lips parted in a mixture of shock and confusion. “But, hey, it was cool to see you again, Azumane.” A small hand clapped him on the shoulder with a surprising amount of force and he flinched - but only a little bit, which he thought was admirable. 

“It’s-- Asahi,” he managed, then realized it probably required more explanation. “My-- my name, you can just call me ‘Asahi,’ all my friends do.” 

Nishinoya’s smile ratcheted up a few more lumens. Squinting was probably advisable. 

“Mine call me Noya,” he replied warmly and offered a little wave as he took a step back towards the stairs. “It was good to properly meet you, Asahi-san. I’ll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I’ll-- I’ll see you,” Asahi called and then watched as the grin and the red sweatshirt and the dark hair and the watermelon bicycle helmet got swallowed back up by the crowd, then stood there standing for another few seconds until his phone started vibrating in his pocket to remind him that he was already late for work. 

\----

Nishinoya Yū grinned the entire way to his gym. All in all, he spent an extra half hour longer on the train than he would have otherwise, but that couldn’t put a dent in his mood. The expression that had been haunting him for two days was gone, replaced by several that he was a lot more fond of. Instead of pity, he saw eyes that were contemplative and brimming with restrained excitement; instead of concern, he saw lips that smiled while they moved over words like _petit four_ and _brioche._ The unease in his stomach had been replaced by butterflies - and butterflies, he could deal with. 

Butterflies, he even sort of enjoyed. 

\----

A white-walled kitchen waited for him, the pale grey of the floor setting the last of his nerves at ease. He was twenty minutes late but that wouldn’t be hard to make up - a benefit of being at work until the wee hours of the morning, when the business itself was closed. Asahi paused inside the heavy back door and stared ahead at the hooks where he usually hung his things, lost in thought rather than his typical panic. _Nah, we passed my stop a while ago._ It kept repeating in his head, displayed across a mental LED screen accompanied by an image of a broad grin. He worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, standing there spacing out until someone to his right cleared their throat. 

When he spun around he found Sugawara standing at the opposite side of the kitchen, watching him with a half-concerned, half-amused look on his face. 

“You alright there, space cadet?” He asked. 

Asahi cleared his throat and nodded.“Yeah, yeah I’m good, just thinking.” 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Suga asked, his voice melodic, and leaned onto his elbows against the stainless steel countertop. Asahi considered for a moment before he spoke.

“I’m-- I saw that guy again. The one with the--“ He paused where he was hanging up his jacket to gesture vaguely with one hand. “--ambulance. On the train this time, on my way to work.” 

Sugawara’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Was it… nice?” 

“Yeah, he--” Asahi replied immediately, then felt his voice catch on more thoughts than he could express at one time. “--I was kind of freaking out? Not about him, or anything in particular, just in general.” 

“Sounds about right.” Suga interjected with a good-natured little smirk on his face; Asahi reluctantly returned it, knowing he should be offended but not living up to it at all. 

“But he started asking me about baking and I just sorta”--he gestured--“forgot what I was so stressed about.” 

“How did he know you bake?” Suga’s brows drew inward, face squinched up in confusion. 

“Well he asked me what I like to do, so I just started--”

“Oh, that makes more sense.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know why he asked exactly.”

“Does he bake?”

“No, he said he ‘can’t cook for shit.’” Asahi glanced over at his friend as he tucked his sweater and shirt into his bag. 

Suga’s face was a pensive and otherwise unreadable mask. “So what happened?”

“He just kept asking me questions til we got to my stop. It was weird though,” Asahi paused as he pulled on his apron and tied it around his waist, his brown eyes distant and unfocused in the direction of the tile floor. “He got off at the station with me, but he said we had already passed his stop, so he had to catch a train back.” 

This time when he looked over at Suga, the silver-haired man was wearing an expression that was equal parts irritated and excited. It made Asahi take a half-step back, guard officially up. 

“...What?” He asked after a second with a voice that was tight with apprehension. 

“Asahi,” Suga started calmly, laying both palms against the stainless steel countertop. “If you did not get that boy’s phone number, I am going to throttle you.” 

“What?!” Asahi looked mildly horrified, wringing his big hands together to avoid thinking about how hot his face had immediately gotten. “Suga, I don’t even know if he’s… _you know_.” He gestured vaguely towards himself. 

“Asahi there is _no heterosexual explanation_ for that story!” Suga’s voice got a little louder than he intended it to, as did the sound of both his flattened palms smacking against the table. Asahi jumped, staring with wide eyes while the smaller man pushed himself up with both arms to make himself taller.

“There’s--” Asahi started and Suga stared at him imploringly, eyes pleading for him to be joking. It took two full seconds for the lightbulb to blink on. The taller man hunched forward to hide his face in his hands and let a long groan pour out of his chest. 

“Suga, I’m an _idiot.”_

The silver-haired man sighed wearily and walked over to set a comforting hand against his friend’s shoulder, fighting the part of his brain that wanted to be amused. To his credit, at least his tone was sympathetic.

“Kind of, yeah,” he agreed, well-meaning, and patted the back of Asahi’s head. “It’s okay. I love you anyways.” 

Asahi groaned.

\----

  
  


“So, let me get this straight.” The gravelly timbre of Tanaka’s voice carried from where he was in the kitchen, rooting through the fridge.

“That’s a bad choice of words,” Noya called back as he flipped through tv channels. 

“Okay let me get this _queer,_ ” Ryū tried again and handed out a can of beer towards his roommate as he came back around the side of the couch. 

“Ohhh, good one!” Yū declared and Tanaka waved his hand and bowed his head in thanks. “You got a fever or somethin?”

The jab was unexpected and earned him a half-hearted swat to the back of his head, dragging a cackle from Nishinoya that the neighbors would likely complain about. Ryū could have tried harder to look offended, but he didn’t have the drive just then.

“So you see this guy again, and he’s freaking out.”

“He just seemed real frazzled.”

“Okay he’s _frazzled,_ ” Tanaka confirmed, looking pointedly over at Noya with his head inclined downwards. “And you spend a half an hour asking him about baking cookies?”

“And other stuff,” Noya offered helpfully, not at all picking up on his friend’s leading tone.

“And other stuff,” Ryū agreed, staring at his blissfully unaware, very, very _stupid_ friend, who just watched the tv for a few more seconds before realizing there was a look to be returned. Tanaka leaned back into the corner of the couch and adopted an expression that was equal parts exasperation and anticipation. 

“What?” Yū finally asked, almost nervous, the lip of his beer can suspended a few centimeters below his open mouth. It had been a while since he had been on the receiving end of that particular look. 

“Well you never told me you thought he was _cute,_ ” Tanaka said and didn’t begrudge himself the delight he took in watching his best friend light up pink and sputter to cover himself.

“I didn’t--”

“Uh-huh.”

“--I _don’t--_ ” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“--He’s _not--”_

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, _fine!_ ” Noya threw his head back against the couch and gestured the hand holding the tv remote out in front of him. “Yes, he’s cute, he’s really tall and he’s got really long hair and he wears these fuckin’ nerd-ass sweaters and when he smiles my stomach goes on a private island getaway, okay?”

“There it is,” Tanaka congratulated himself and swiped his finger in a short, downward stroke in the air in front of him: _point for me_. His own beverage was set aside on the table while he tugged his computer into his lap again. 

“So what, you ask him for his number or the cafe he works at or somethin’?” When Yū hadn’t spoken by the time he went to start a new round of his game, he paused and glanced over again. “Dude?” 

Noya pressed his lips into a tight line and stared grimly at the coffee table for the several seconds it took Ryū to understand the implications. 

“ _Dude.”_

“I know!” Nishinoya cried, reaching up to cover his face with his arm. 

“How are you so bad at this?”

“Thank you for the encouragement.” 

“I’m serious!” Tanaka squawked and reached over to lay a heavy hand on Yū’s shoulder. “You flirt with girls just fine, how the hell is a dude scarier?” He realized what he had asked a moment later when big, pensive brown eyes peeked out from under an elbow to focus on him; he relented, shrinking into himself a little. “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Noya replied and reached over to give his buddy’s chest a forceful tap. After a few beats during which they both stared at the tv, he spoke again. “I guess I better stop bein’ a chicken shit if I see him again.”

Ryū nodded solemnly and after another moment of nearly unbearable silence, he shot a little smirk over at Yū.

“What’s that bullshit about ‘third time’s the charm’?” 

A laugh burst out of Noya before he could stop it, head rolling to the side and fist coming up to thump his roommate in the chest again. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused, trying to sound exasperated, and then nodded at the computer in Tanaka’s lap. “Whatcha workin on?”

“That game. The one I told you about? With the fuckin’-- frogs n’ shit.” He gestured at his screen.

Yū snorted. “Very eloquent.” 

“Ohh, we usin’ three-syllable words now, Mr. Flunked Modern Lit?” 

“Hey, that professor _hated_ me and you know it!”

“Yeah, I’m sure all that sleeping in class really helped with--!” Tanaka’s jab was cut off when a wilted throw pillow came sailing at him from his right side. It glanced off of him and ricocheted into the end table and the resulting mess when a beer toppled over sent both men scrambling for towels. 

\----

The days were growing both shorter and colder and Asahi wasn’t a fan of either. His birthday was in the winter so he supposed it would make sense if he enjoyed the season, but it mostly just brought with it a slew of new problems, like ice and a hundred outer layers. Watching the later stages of fall overtake Tokyo was bittersweet; for all the beautiful things there were to see, they always brought with them the knowledge that colder weather was not far behind. 

An evening in early October began for Asahi as many did: arriving at work. He hung his bag in its place and his coat right beside it, stowed his sweater, donned his apron. With the decrease in temperature came an increase in customers to the cafe seeking a warm place to tuck away from city winds and beverages to match. The beverages weren’t so much his forte but their accompaniments were, so he got right to work. His routine was second nature: puff pastry first, each turn separated by another task until it was ready to be used. The third time he went to put it in the fridge, the rest of his routine was interrupted by the kitchen door swinging open. Suga appeared a half second later looking frazzled - which for him meant slightly mussed hair and very wide eyes. 

“Oh no,” Asahi mumbled in the tone of one who knows and dreads what’s about to happen. 

“Please? It’s just for a while, I swear.”

“I mean, I--” Asahi started, casting about for a reasonable excuse - though he knew from experience that he was no match for the imploring look on his dear friend’s face. “Yeah, I can… probably swing it,” he murmured and Suga thanked him profusely before ushering him back into his button-down and out into the cafe proper. 

Neko-chino was fairly busy most days, especially as the date night crowd rolled through, but it was usually well-staffed. _Usually._ Someone had called out sick, apparently, and so it was that Asahi found himself standing on a pink hardwood floor, wearing a face mask and surrounded by cats. It was like they could just fucking _tell_ that he was allergic; any time he was in the front room, they would be practically all over him, rubbing against his ankles and trying to get affection. Not that the wait staff were supposed to touch the cats anyways - food safety and all. 

Suga ushered his behemoth friend towards a table in the front of the space, explaining on the way that they only needed his help for the last half hour before closing. Asahi tried not to drag his heels despite how badly he wanted to be back in his kitchen where everything was predictable and safe. He took a deep breath as he approached his patrons, one facing towards him and one away; the man he could see clearly was fairly slight with pale hair and thin brows, his grin playful when he looked up. It wasn’t until Asahi got to the table and started to ask what he could get his guests that day that he realized exactly how fucked he was. 

\----

Nishinoya wasn’t typically out and about town in the evenings, but he made exceptions for special occasions. He stood bouncing on the balls of his feet at Ikebukuro Station, still a ball of energy even after night had fallen, his hands jammed in the pockets of his bright red hoodie. His clothes were pretty simple - fitted black v-neck t-shirt, dark wash skinny jeans, bright red high-tops - but his accessories gave him flavor: a studded leather belt and cuff and metal in no less than five holes in his ears. He always got looks, people assuming he was a twelve-year-old out past curfew, but the piercings at least helped to cast some doubt over the assumptions. 

“Yū!” The voice cut above the din of the station crowd and Nishinoya beamed at its owner, a fair-haired young man who was just a tad taller than he was. 

“Yaku-san!” he called back and the two gave each other a jovial hug and a few heavy _thumps_ between their shoulder blades. 

“I told you, man, we aren’t in high school anymore - just call me ‘Morisuke.’” 

“Sorry, sorry, habit!” The two of them laughed and started making their way through the crowd and out onto the sidewalk. 

“You in town long?”

“I wish. I only have a couple days before I gotta get back.”

“Man, they’re really putting you through the ringer, huh?”

“I mean, they pay me to do what I love. I’m not about to complain.” 

“Hey, fair enough.” Yū grinned as he reached out and held the door open for their cafe of choice. 

Yaku’s light brown eyes lit right up and a happy little whine slipped out his nose when a sleek grey cat wandered straight over and rubbed against his legs. Noya snickered and waved down a host, a silver-haired man with kind eyes who led the two of them to a table by the big front window and got them seated with menus. Almost immediately, three more cats of varying sizes and colors came wandering over to Yaku, investigating him. 

The two men took off their outer layers and draped them over the back of the spare chair nearby. Yū’s look was fairly casual, but Morisuke was dressed up as always, wearing a fashionable blazer tailored for his smaller frame and a t-shirt that probably cost him ¥5000. 

“Man, you sure know how to make a guy feel like a slob, Morisuke,” Nishinoya teased, grinning from ear to ear, and his companion laughed almost as loudly as he did. 

“Just gotta up your game then, Yū! I mean, I can’t believe you didn’t dress up for your own--” He cut himself off when a towering figure stepped into view from over Noya’s shoulder. 

“Excuse me, sorry, I’m going to be your server today. Can I get you--” 

Nishinoya looked up and felt his eyes go wide and his mouth tight and small. It had been a few weeks and he was wearing a face mask that hid his scruff, but Yū would know that silhouette anywhere. There was Asahi, the visual of him in his apron hitting him right in the stomach. 

“A-- Asahi-san!” he managed, cheerful, and felt his cheeks flush when his voice cracked, “What-- what a coincidence! It’s, uh, it’s really great to see you again.” 

Yaku glanced back and forth from his friend to Asahi, suddenly much more invested in the drama unfolding than he was in the cats climbing into his lap. 

“Ni-- Nishinoya,” Asahi nearly choked. His blush was evident even behind his paper face mask, his shoulders tensed. “I, uh. It’s good to see you too, yeah, I. Um. C-can I… get you folks anything? I mean-- probably something, right? Cafe and… and all.” He seemed to remember suddenly that there were more than just the two of them at the table, glancing over at a very smug-looking Yaku when he asked the question. 

“Cappuccino for me, thanks,” Morisuke said coyly. 

“Oh, just uh-- coffee and cream for me, thank you.” 

There was a moment where Noya and Asahi made eye contact, their faces rigid. Their height difference was a lot more pronounced when he was looking up like this, a fact that Yū felt in his gut and then lower. The taller man cleared his throat and nodded before offering a quiet ‘I’ll get that started for you’ and excusing himself to the counter. Nishinoya watched him go before turning back to find two sharp, light brown eyes focused on him, a smirk digging hard into Yaku’s cheeks. 

“ _Wow,_ ” he said, tone dripping with amusement, and Yū felt his face go hot. “Now _that_ … was awkward.” 

\----

Asahi tried not to hyperventilate while he weaved his way through the crowd of customers to the bar. The space was done in all pastel greens and blues and pinks, an open layout with clusters of soft chairs and couches and several tables to sit at for those inclined to work rather than playing with the cats. His head was moving faster than his feet were capable of, thoughts snagged on the ones Sugawara had put into his head: could Nishinoya be interested in him? But he was there with a different guy. Maybe they were together? Maybe Suga had just misinterpreted the whole situation? Asahi chanced a glance over his shoulder as he rounded the corner and settled in to prepare the beverages, his neck hot and his palms sweaty. 

As though summoned by the unrest in the air, Suga appeared beside him with a coy little smile on his face and peered over his shoulder. 

“Why are you so flustered?” he asked, not bothering with the nicety of assuming everything was fine. Clearly it wasn’t, otherwise Asahi wouldn’t have nearly knocked over the French press he was handling. 

“N-- I’m not… _flustered,_ ” he attempted, not managing to be the least bit convincing, and Sugawara leaned his elbows onto the counter, apparently ignoring the busy state of the cafe in order to further his investigative interests. Rather than ask more questions, he simply _stared,_ knowing gaze focused solely on Asahi. 

It took all of four seconds for him to crack under the pressure. 

“That’s the guy,” he whispered as though Nishinoya would be able to hear him over the din of a crowded cafe. 

Suga glanced at the table, eyes scanning Yaku, who was visible, and the back of Nishinoya’s head. 

“The blonde?” 

“No, the-- the other one, dark hair. Stop-- stop _staring,_ Suga, please.”

“How am I supposed to get a good look at him without staring?” 

“You’re _not--_ ”

“Well I suppose if you’d rather, I can give the table to someone el--”

“ _No!”_ It burst out of him so suddenly and with so much force that it surprised even the speaker. Asahi stared down at the now-full French press while his ears got progressively hotter and though he didn’t need to look to know what expression he was on the receiving end of, he still slid his eyes over to find just about the most smug grin he had ever seen on Suga’s face. 

“Then I guess you’d better give them a dessert, huh? My treat.”

\----

“So, okay wait.” Yaku was fighting through the laughter trying to bubble out of his chest. “You--” He paused to point for emphasis at Noya, who was presently hiding his face behind both hands. “-- _You_ rode the Tokyo subway at rush hour for an extra forty-five-minutes--”

“It was only thirty!” 

“For you, standing still for that long may as well have been a _year!”_

Yū opened his mouth to argue and then clicked it shut again because okay yeah, that was true. Morisuke counted this as a victory and continued. 

“All so you could ask this guy about his hobbies and then _forget_ to ask him for his phone number?”

“I didn’t _forget_.”

“I was trying to be nice but fine, so you could _wuss out of asking_ for his phone number.” 

Nishinoya opened his mouth and closed it again, once more unable to fully protest, and went back to hiding his face in his hands while his high school senpai snorted in amusement. 

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” 

“Hey, I’m still mighty! Even an ogre can be moved to tears, you know.” 

“And yet you still failed modern lit.”

“What, did you and Ryū _compare notes_ for fuck’s-- _hi!”_ He tried _very hard_ not to wince when his voice cracked (with somewhat limited success) and managed a smile up at Asahi, who had just appeared at his side. 

Yaku admirably kept his laughter to himself, though Noya made a mental note to punch him for his expression later. 

“I-- _hi_ ,” the taller man replied and paused to glance down at his very attractive guest, who was acting kind of weird. “I brought your drinks and also, um--” 

From a small tray in his left hand, Asahi retrieved a mug for each of them - the cappuccino decorated with a nutmeg cat sticking its tongue out, the stencil of the day - and a plate bearing two petit fours. One wore a dark glaze and the other white, each decorated with a delicate chocolate sculpture of a cat in the opposing color, curled up on a sugar paste doily. Nishinoya’s eyes went wide; Yaku bit his knuckle to keep himself from voicing his delight. 

Before Asahi could say anything else, he was interrupted. 

“Wait, did you make these?!” Yū asked loudly enough that a young woman at the next table over glanced disapprovingly in their direction. The attention didn’t so much as take the glint off of his smile, which was the biggest Azumane had probably ever seen; he offered a sheepish little nod in response, ears already hot. “That’s amazing! These are the-- the petty-things, right?” 

“Petit fours,” Yaku mumbled from behind his fist and Noya ignored him. 

“I-- yeah,” Asahi managed, his neck almost as red as his ears and his smile sneaking into his voice. “You remembered.” 

“Sort of,” Yaku added under his breath and Noya kicked him in the shin under the table; Morisuke kept his grunt of distress short and quiet enough to be passed off as a cough. 

“Well yeah, you said they were your favorite.” Yū was fairly certain that Asahi’s flush could be seen from space, a fact that only hiked his grin up farther into his cheeks even though the other man didn’t seem to be quite able to meet his gaze - or maybe especially for that reason. 

After a few moments of expectant silence, Yaku cleared his throat quietly. Both participants in the gay disaster he was watching unfold across the table came back to themselves at the same time, Azumane looking understandably flustered and Nishinoya looking understandably annoyed at the interruption. 

“Right! Yes, uh, I’ll um-- I’ll let you two enjoy. Let us know if you-- if there’s anything I can do for-- for you.” Asahi got it out without wincing - a miracle, as he and Yaku thought simultaneously, though Noya would have called it a shame - and gave a slight bow of his upper half before turning to hurry back towards the coffee bar, his little tray held against his chest as though it would calm his heart palpitations. 

Yū watched him go with a dopey smile on his face and didn’t look away until the third time Morisuke cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, you can fucking stow it, you little weasel.” Noya tried to sound biting, but he couldn’t keep the fondness fully out of his tone. Yaku only grinned in response while he went for his mug, then watched as his friend reached over to lift his sweatshirt from where it had been draped. 

A snap-top cellphone bag was stitched to the inside of the garment. Noya retrieved a copper-colored metal tube from within that fit the proportions of a thick, slightly elongated pen. The top was removed to reveal a vial of clear liquid with a plunger. Nishinoya screwed a smaller plastic tip onto the end of the vial, turned a dial at the opposite end of the pen, and pulled off the plastic cap before injecting himself quickly in the stomach. 

“Guess that means I can’t eat your petit four,” Morisuke observed, mock-chagrined, and received a beaming smile in return that he was certain had very little to do with him. 

“Nope!” 

\----

Asahi made it through his next guest interaction with suspiciously little stammering. He was still fairly pink (particularly his ears) by the time he made it back to the coffee bar, but he had had enough time to calm down that when he met Suga’s imploring stare, he just smiled behind his mask and let the blood rush back to his face. Perhaps wanting to be just the littlest bit vindictive for all the ribbing, he waited for his _very eager_ friend to ask before spilling any details. 

“Asahi!” Okay, not so much _ask,_ more like _demand._ “What _happened?!_ ” Sugawara, not content to let his contribution go unaddressed, reached over and jabbed his very, very dear friend in the side. Asahi stifled a yelp and coughed to cover for himself, a laugh slipping out immediately after. 

“He, um--” He hesitated and the smile he wore was evident behind the mask in the way his eyes crinkled around the edges, pushed slightly shut by the rounding of his cheeks. “--he remembered I like making the petit fours.” 

“‘Remembered’?” Suga asked, already cautiously enthused. 

“Yeah, I-- I told him the other week, when we were on the train.” 

There was a rare moment of speechlessness from Sugawara; Asahi turned to look at him and was met with an expression that was equal parts fondness and put-on disgust. 

“Augh, gross,” he teased, smile stretching wider across his face with every word, “Just marry him and spare the rest of us, would you?” 

Asahi laughed, a quiet, rumbling sound in his chest that was only complemented by the way he turned the color of a ripe plum. 

\----

“You’re lucky I even let you eat _one."_

“One petit four was the minimum toll owed me for having to watch that absolutely nauseating display, thank you very much.” 

“Man, do you or do you not want me to have cake that delicious the next time you visit? Because I swear I will fill my apartment with nothing but nori chips and roasted edamame and you will be stuck in salty snack food hell.” 

Yaku relented at the threat, holding up both hands in a passive surrender. Noya was still grinning like a fool, not at all pressed over how ridiculous he might have looked. He nodded over to where there were now three cats in Morisuke’s lap and another stretched up against his leg, pawing at his jeans’ pocket. “Why are they all over you like that? Did you start farming catnip between seasons in London, or something?” 

Yaku smirked and leaned back to reach into his pocket and retrieve four tiny brown fish shapes. “I bribed ‘em.” 

Yū nearly choked on his coffee, having to clear his throat into his elbow until he could laugh like a normal person - a very _loud_ normal person. He was interrupted in the process of forming another comment by a vibrating in his pocket. His phone was retrieved and when he flipped it open to answer, Yaku cursed under his breath, looking momentarily irritated in the direction of the floor. Noya tilted his head to the side, brow raised in a silent question, and held the receiver to his ear. 

“What’s up, Ryū? Yeah, yeah I got Yaku, he and I are--” He paused, scrunching his face up in confusion. “What do you mean, you broke the washing machine? You never do fuckin’ laundry, how did--” Another pause; the voice on the other end of the line got more frantic, yelling about suds. “I-- okay, okay! Yeah, I’ll be right there, just try to… I dunno, bail ‘em into the bathroom or some shit, you moron.” He flipped his phone shut and looked grimly down at the rectangular LED readout on the front, then over his shoulder to where his would-be beau was taking another table’s orders. 

Morisuke held his tongue until his friend’s attention was back on him. 

“Sounded like an emergency,” he pointed out and Noya nodded, reaching up to rub the back of his head. “You better hurry if you want to give him your number.” 

“Nah, I-- I don’t wanna do it in a rush, you know?” Yū heaved a sigh and dragged himself to his feet. “I know where he works now, creepy as it sounds. I can come back when Ryū’s not drowning in laundry soap.” 

“Laundry..?” Yaku started, expression incredulous, but took the hint when a hand was held up in his direction. Noya shook his head, exasperated; Morisuke stopped him when he reached for his wallet. “No no, come on, I got this. You go on back, I know my way from here and I don’t need to be there for… _laundry._ ” His tone came with a heavy dose of both amusement and befuddlement. 

Yū paused, debating, but then nodded and gave his old senpai a pat on the shoulder in thanks before heading for the exit. 

Morisuke waited for the door to shut before heaving a sigh, then looked up from his mug to find a pair of hazel eyes fixed on him from across the cafe space. 

\----

Asahi was downright chipper. It was weird for him to be so outwardly happy, particularly when he was in the front room with guests, but he couldn’t help himself. The conversation had confirmed for him what Suga had said - Nishinoya was interested in him. _Nishinoya_ was interested in _him._ Why else would he have remembered their discussion like that? There was a slight skip in the gentle giant’s step as he delivered beverages to a few more guests, not even embarrassed when a cat rubbing against his ankle made him kitten-sneeze into his elbow. 

Then he turned around. 

The table by the window was empty. 

Customary panic immediately set in. Had he gotten it wrong? Had he done or said something weird? There were still ten minutes left before the cafe closed, but the front room was suddenly more claustrophobic than his shoebox of a kitchen, the people in it only adding to the vacuum he felt like he had just been dropped into. He made a beeline for the staff room door and burst through it to find one of his coworkers, a very slight young woman who looked startled by his sudden appearance. Asahi mumbled an apology and pushed on into the kitchen. Suga’s voice calling him faded behind the burgeoning chaos in his brain, his breath coming fast and unsteady even when he was slumped against the kitchen island. 

“Asahi!” 

The door swung open and Asahi held up a hand towards his very concerned friend. 

“I’m fine!” 

“You can’t possibly expect me to--”

“Suga! Please, for fuck’s sake, I can’t--”

“Asahi, please calm down.”

“How am I supposed t--?! Suga, I must have done something to make him uncomfortable!”

“Asahi.”

“Oh my god, what if that was his boyfriend? I probably looked like such a _freak--_ ”

“Asahi.” 

“And why did I give him _cake?!_ Suga, he’s a diabetic! He probably can’t even eat cake!” 

“Asahi, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“But what if it is? What if he was just being polite and he didn’t even _eat_ it?”

“I am sure he ate it.”

“How do you know?! Did you _watch_ him eat it because that would be really wei--”

“If I say yes, will you kindly _calm the fuck down?”_

Asahi finally stilled. He realized that at some point, he had ripped his paper mask off and had buried his fingers in his hair, his frame hunched fully over the table. Once he had straightened and cleared his throat, Suga shoved a piece of receipt paper at him; on it was scrawled a number and a note in messy handwriting. 

“What..?”

“Your boyfriend wanted you to have this.” Suga’s tone was stern, but his eyes were sympathetic while he watched his very dear, very dense friend reach out to accept it. 

“He left it for me?”

“Well, he left in kind of a hurry, seemed like it was an emergency. So technically, his friend left it for you.” 

Asahi looked down at the paper in his hand with a wry expression on his face, lips hiked lopsidedly into a disbelieving smirk.

“You sure it wasn’t for you?”

“Oh, I got one,” Suga countered immediately, holding up his own bit of receipt paper with one hand while the other planted itself firmly on his stuck-out hip. “The blonde was cute too, you know. But no, _that_ one is for _you._ ” 

Asahi glanced up, still slightly in shock, then down again. A tentative but warm smile crawled across his lips while he read and reread the note, then went to tuck it away into his back pocket. 

“Azumane I swear, if you do not message that boy _today_ then so help me, I will take away your snack privileges.”

“What are you, my mom now? C’mon, Suga.” Asahi laughed and looked up to find an expression flatly informing him that if he said anything like that again, he would be sent to his room without dinner. His own shrunk immediately into something sheepish and contrite and he cleared his throat before adding, “Okay, okay. Sorry, mom.” 

Suga nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned in a huff to go back to the front room and close up shop. 

Asahi held the note in one of his giant hands and ran his thumb delicately over the scribbled kanji, reading it for a fourth time. 

_I want to tell you myself how delicious it was._ And then, after the string of numbers, _Also, no pressure, but it is my birthday… (●ゝω・)_

\----

Morisuke Yaku strolled in late and wearing the sort of shit-eating grin he typically reserved for times when he had gotten one over on someone - which, he supposed, wasn’t too far from the truth.

The party had already started, music playing over speakers set up in the far corners of the living room. The furniture had been cleared to the edges to make space for guests. He found Tanaka and Nishinoya in the kitchen, Noya wearing a party hat and looking a confusing mixture of excited and disappointed while his best friend - pink-faced from beer and clearly more the former than the latter - went on loudly about how much of a master party planner he was. 

“You know, you are like the worst wing-man _ever,_ even from a distance,” Morisuke declared as he swung an arm around the back of Tanaka’s neck, nearly throwing them both off-balance. Ryū sputtered and caught himself with a hand on the wall, narrowly avoiding a fall. 

“The fuck are you-- Hey, listen, I know your job was to keep Noya distracted so we could set up, but that doesn’t let you off the hook for the _surprise_ part of the party, you know?” 

Yaku scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, give me a break. I was held up getting him the best birthday gift ever.” 

Nishinoya and Tanaka both looked perplexed.

“Morisuke, I told you you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Yeah and besides, I thought you got him that thing in Amster--”

“ _Tanaka!_ Fucking-- _subtlety,_ have you ever heard of it?”

“Heard of? Yeah. Possessed? Not as much.” Ryū shrugged his mouth. “Not my thing.”

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?”

“Hey, uh, the fuck are you two on about?” Noya ventured, amusement in his lopsided grin and confusion in his raised brow. Morisuke grinned so wide that it turned Yū pale and made his eyes go saucer-sized. 

“You _didn’t._ ” 

Yaku shrugged and waved his hand, the perfect blend of smug and nonchalant. A buzz in his pocket drew Nishinoya’s attention and he felt his neck and ears go hot while he fumbled for his phone. 

“You’re welcome,” Mosisuke called, sing-song, and failed to suppress his smug smirk as he turned to walk away. Tanaka looked very confused. Nishinoya was turning pink as he stared at his phone, but it didn’t stop the smile from creeping across his face. 

**Unknown Number:** Hey, uh… happy birthday. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all... the gay really got away from me this chapter. I'm not at all sorry, I just thought you should know. 
> 
> Quick cw for brief descriptions of dysphoria. 
> 
> I have a new headcannon about Suga being genderfluid so there are some pronoun shenanigans later on in the text. 
> 
> Still new at this but here, have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/SystemicWrites).

Asahi: Hey, uh… happy birthday. :)

Noya: omg, HI, thank you!!

Noya: I can’t believe he told you

Noya: but yes, hi, thank you so much! 

Noya: those petit fours were delicious 

Noya: I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in person

Asahi: oh! No that’s okay, I’m so glad you liked them

Asahi: sorry, what did you mean ‘he told me’?

Noya: oh god, I’m so sorry about that. 

Noya: my friend left you a note for me I think? With my number

Noya: and apparently my birthday

Noya: which is kind of embarrassing

Asahi: oh, I didn’t realize

Asahi: should I not have texted? I was told the note was from you

Noya: no no, I am SO glad you texted!

Noya: seriously like, best birthday gift ever

Noya: I just had this whole plan 

Noya: to be all suave? Which sounds stupid

Noya: instead of looking like a huge dork

Noya: SORRY I should have just been grateful!! Instead of complaining!!

Asahi: no it’s okay! I’m actually 

Asahi: I’m really happy 

Asahi: I’m just making cake right now

Asahi: (I’m at work, I mean)

Noya: OH okay! Wow, you work late

Noya: what kind of cake? those little ones were so good, omg

Noya: and really beautiful?? I almost felt bad eating it 

Noya: but then I didn’t, because they were delicious 

Noya: thank you, again. That was so sweet of you 

Noya: like literally, but also the other one

Asahi: I’m so glad!! :)

Asahi: I’m making white cake with yuzu filling tonight

Asahi: and a bunch of other stuff, I’m a little behind schedule. 

Asahi: I don’t usually work in the front so it threw me off a bit

Noya: lucky me ;)

Asahi had to take a minute after that one to hide his face in the collar of his shirt until it stopped burning. By then, there was another message waiting for him. 

Noya: how about I let you get back to it for now? 

Noya: since it’s your favorite thing and all 

Noya: can I text you tomorrow? 

Asahi: I… would really like that :)

Asahi: Happy Birthday, Nishinoya 

Noya: it is now

Noya: thanks, Asahi-san

Noya: good night :*

That night, for the first time in a long time, Asahi used his recipe book. He made absolutely certain to double-check his measurements, the temperature on the ovens, and that he had timers set. His brain buzzed with excitement and he was pretty sure that if he wasn’t extra careful, the morning crew would show up to find a bunch of inedible baked goods to serve to customers. On his way home he read and reread the messages from Nishinoya, wearing a soft, warm smile on his face while he did. 

\----

Asahi had only been asleep for about four hours when a very loud _ba-ding_ from his bedside table woke him up. He groaned and reached over from where he was hidden under his covers, the only thing visible from above a tangle of silky brown hair, to grope around for the source of the noise. When his smartphone had been pulled under with him he squinted at the screen, vision impaired both by sleep and lack of glasses. The scowl on his face was replaced at the sight of the contact name with a slow, sappy smile. 

Noya: good morning!! :D

Noya: oh shit, you probably sleep later than this, huh?

Noya: I just got to work but text me later!

Azumane made a grumbly, whiny noise in his throat and rolled over into his pillow, mad that his body was threatening to wake up just from a few text messages but also stupidly, ridiculously happier than he felt he had any right to be. He fell back asleep anyways and when he was awake again a few hours later, he sat on the edge of his bed and tapped out a reply. 

Asahi: you are a serious morning person

Asahi: do you ever sleep or do you just switch out your batteries after a couple days? 

Noya paused between deliveries while waiting for the freight elevator he was in to reach the ground floor and grinned down at his phone. Ever since the night before, his stomach had been full of the best kind of butterflies; they got twice as excited at the reply. 

Noya: nah I upgraded to solar power this year

Noya: ;D

Noya: you’re more of a night owl, huh? Is that why you work late? 

Asahi snorted in the back of his fashion marketing class and had to cover it with a very embarrassed cough; this did nothing to hide the crimson in his ears, but his professor let it go and returned to her slides. 

Asahi: yeah it doesn’t hurt? 

Asahi: I like the quiet

Noya: yeah, that makes sense 

Asahi didn’t know why that made him smile so much, just that it did. 

Noya: you ever get days off??

Noya: just, y’know.

Noya: out of curiosity ;)

Nishinoya waited with his bottom lip curled between his teeth, his slight frame leaning over a bike rack. 

Asahi: I, um. I usually have Sundays off? And Wednesdays 

Noya: what a coincidence 

Noya: I have Mondays off, so I can be a night owl on Sundays too

Asahi felt his blush hit him so fast that he was certain it was audible in the next library cubicle over. His thumb hesitated over the keyboard. It was an objectively good line, even he knew that much, but was it the kind of thing he could pull off? Nishinoya seemed like the type who would enjoy a little forwardness though, so maybe...

Asahi: that is quite a coincidence 

Asahi: maybe we should be night owls together

Noya’s grin was visible from space. He sat atop his bike and leaned on a retaining wall near the top of a hill, dewy with sweat and flushed with exertion - and now excitement. Apparently Azumane was capable of more bravery than he had expected. It merited just as much boldness in return. 

Noya: Can I buy you dinner, Asahi-san?

The reply was almost instantaneous. 

Asahi: I would really like that :)

\----

“So you used my line? About being night owls?” Suga looked like a kid at Christmas, sitting on Santa Claus’ lap - only in this case, Santa Claus was Daichi and their audience wasn’t as enthused about the experience as a doting parent might be. Asahi wasn’t about to begrudge them their affections though, given how little time they had had together recently. He smirked with wry amusement and nodded down at a half-empty coffee mug. 

“I did, it went over really well.” 

“See? I _told_ you he was interested.” 

“As always, you were right.” 

“You hear that, Dai?” Suga sprouted a grin that stretched from ear to ear and turned to face Daichi directly, smug past his innocent facade. His legs were draped over his boyfriend’s lap so that he could lean against his broad chest (which he was quite the vocal fan of, much to their friend’s discomfort). “I’m _always_ right.”

Daichi - who was doing an admirable job of staying awake in the early afternoon for someone who had been on graveyard shifts at the firehouse for two weeks - nodded once and then blinked his bleary eyes in Asahi’s direction. 

“Thank you for that. He’ll be insufferable for weeks.”

Suga only grinned and Daichi did too, albeit wryly; his mouth was just visible past his knuckles, pointer and middle finger splayed against his temple like they were the only things keeping him slouching into his arm instead of slumping entirely sideways across the couch in his living room. “You really like this guy, huh? It’s not every day you decide to take Suga’s advice on flirting.” 

“He’s--” _Pretty? Funny? Kind? He makes my stomach do somersaults?_ Asahi felt himself go very, very red, looking intently down at where his fingers were locked around his cup, the porcelain slowly going cold against his skin. “--different. He makes me feel different, I can’t explain it exactly.” After a moment, he looked up to find two sets of eyes on him. Daichi was wearing a soft, warm smile that had a weird amount of pride in it while Suga had his hand splayed across his heart, mouth twisted in the sort of frown-pout he typically reserved for puppies that were too cute for him to deal with. Asahi felt his blush get worse and hid his face behind one of his hands until the silence was broken. 

“So.” Suga began and Asahi could almost tell what was coming next. “What are you gonna wear?” 

\----

“Ryū! What do I _wear?!”_

“Dude, if you have to ask me, you’re even worse off than I thought you would be.” 

“Wow, _rude._ ” Noya called from his bedroom, then sighed when his eyes landed on the heap of clothes that had taken over his bed. Why was his wardrobe almost exclusively jeans and t-shirts and hoodies? And since when did that not feel like appropriate date attire? Probably since his date-to-be had given him a tiny, exquisitely-decorated cake. While looking gorgeous, even behind a face mask. 

Yeah, that was it. 

He reached a hand up to scrub at his face, ruffling his still-damp hair in the process, and repeated a mantra to himself: _just a date, just a date, just a date._ He had been on lots of dates, just… most of them had been with girls. Noya turned his head to face the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door, his reflection a reminder of why he was nervous; a black half-binder cut a line into his abdomen, smoothing out what would otherwise be the modest swell of his chest, and the sight of it made something inside him feel like a broken snow globe, messy and sharp. 

A harsh breath was sucked in through his nose and pushed out through his mouth and, with a resolution reached, Nishinoya dove back into his hunt for the right t-shirt. 

\----

Asahi arrived fifteen minutes early to the izakaya slightly off campus, the one whose defining feature was its outer wall decorated with a piece of street art: a squid painted in shades of mauve that swirled across its blocky blue background like it was circling a drain. His date had picked it a few days prior. _His date._ The idea still felt foreign in his brain, but there it was, becoming a reality as the chill of a mid-October evening fell around him. Street lights flickered to life in time for the sunset to begin and he spent his waiting period tucked away against the front of the little eatery trying not to people watch. It had gotten him in trouble before - he was scary, he guessed, when he looked too hard at something? Though the effect was lessened when he was wearing his green-khaki jacket and cream-colored scarf which, when paired with his glasses, made him look like a dad (according to Daichi, who Suga had swatted for it). The long hair, he hoped, at least made him look like a _cool_ dad.

Sugawara had been instrumental in his outfit choice - a more fitted pair of dark-wash jeans that looked good on him (or so he had been informed forcefully and in ways that made him yell ‘ _god, Suga! Stop!’_ ) paired with a soft blue sweater, the cashmere one his sister-in-law had bought him for Christmas the year before, over top of a pale grey crew neck. His brown leather shoes finished off the look well enough, the ones that he didn’t love but had grown to feel comfortable in. Standing there, he began to realize what an embarrassingly long time it had taken for him to pick an outfit that was almost exactly what he wore _every single day_ and how maybe he should have done more with his hair besides just blow drying and letting it hang in soft waves around his shoulders and--

“Asahi-san!” The call - it was more of a yell, really - cut down the otherwise hushed side street and prompted the color to rush to his face immediately when bystanders glanced his way, though it was restrained to the apples of his cheeks for the moment.

  
“Nishinoya.” His voice was warm, working over something precious, and it was met by a wide, toothy smile that did funny things to his stomach. “It’s good to see you.” The man in question was wearing that same red hoodie, zipped up this time above his notably _un_ ripped black jeans and matching red high tops. His bleach blonde fringe was peeking out from beneath a snapback, the flower-printed brim facing backwards and to one side because _of course_ he wore it backwards.

“It’s good to see you, too.” There was a moment where the smaller man came to stand directly in front of his date, a little too close but not quite close enough, where the space between their bodies vibrated with something like anticipation. A hug wasn’t right, a bow _definitely_ wasn’t right; Nishinoya opted to butt his knucles gently up against Asahi’s upper stomach, then tried not to wince at himself for being awkward as fuck. “You look great!” Not his best attempt at cover. He was allowed to say that shit on a date though, right? 

“You too.” The look on Asahi’s face could have melted ice; it turned Yū’s already-shaky insides to jelly. 

The pair made for the entrance, a shoji door hidden by a noren dyed a classic deep indigo, its white linework depicting koi fish jumping out of waves. The interior of the place had an industrial feel with a few charming classical elements mixed into its aesthetic. The air was warm and the place was far enough from Ameya Yokocho or Yurakucho that it wasn’t clogged with people and smoke, catering more to the Tokyo University crowd (many of whom stayed stowed away Sunday nights) than salarymen. 

They were waved towards one of the many booth tables crowded in along the left wall, each separated by a paper screen to provide privacy. The low lighting and limited space made it intimate, but Asahi was privately grateful that it hadn’t turned out to be the sort of place with one long counter - or maybe that would have been better? Then Noya might not have been able to see him making as much a fool of himself. But then there was the chance that he would be too big and accidentally invade his space, and that would be bad too. Oh god, what if he--

“What do you think of the place?” 

Asahi blinked back into the present as the two of them sat in their respective halves of the booth, divesting of their outer layers in the seats beside them. Nishinoya was focused on him intently, grin wide and brown eyes expectant. 

“It’s-- really cool.” Asahi did his best not to wince when he realized how hard he was trying and was moderately successful, but mostly because his glasses disguised it. 

“Right? I love it, it’s like… it’s got that old school feel, but it’s not dated, you know?” Yū’s rubber soles _tap tapped_ against the concrete floor as though for emphasis. He scanned the ceiling above them, then the wall of art across the narrow walkway back towards the bathroom; halfway down, the door to the kitchen was visible, framed by a huge stylized red spider lily design over a pale plum background. “I usually come here on Saturday afternoons though, it’s usually not quite so, uh--” The ceiling was cast in long shadows from the low backlighting around them, the only direct illumination on the walls, which meant their booth was on the dim side. “--dark. It’s still cool though, I’m glad you can see the art.” 

“Me too,” Asahi replied, then realized he wasn’t looking at the art. He was looking at Noya’s eyes, the way they reflected low golden light in flashes, at the way his lips parted when he was thinking about something. The jewelry in his piercing had been changed, the bridge of his nose now cradled between two small rose gold orbs. The shirt he was wearing was fitted navy cotton with bold white brushwork trailing down from where a left breast pocket would be, spelling out the idiom 不撓不屈 - futofukutsu, _indomitable._ Why did that feel like it fit him so well? 

\----

Nishinoya turned back to find his date looking at him with the sort of smile on his face that should have been illegal outside a bedroom. His eyes had gone half-lidded behind his glasses, partially obscured by the reflection of the lights around them, and his lips were pulled up in a gentle, lopsided smirk that sloped into his left cheek. Yū almost had a heart attack. Lucky for him (or unlucky, depending on whether you asked him the moment before or the moment after) when they made eye contact, Asahi dropped his attention to the table and turned pink while he busied himself fiddling with the corner of the laminated menu. 

Okay, maybe he was lucky either way. 

“So I know you like to bake.” Yes, talking. Talking was good. “What else do you like to do?” 

“Oh, I--” Asahi hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek while his brows drew together. “It’s kind of embarrassing, but I don’t really… do a whole lot? Outside of work. I have school most days, so the days I have off I normally spend working on projects...”

“What are you in school for?” 

Asahi looked like he had expected a different follow-up; he paused to glance up at Noya, who regarded him with interest and a head tilt until a waitress appeared beside their table, asking about beverage orders. When she was gone again, the gentle giant didn’t seem capable of speech, his eyes and hands still on the menu, nervously fiddling. His smaller companion reached out to set his palm against the table, the tips of his fingers just short of brushing against Asahi’s wrist. Their gazes met and Nishinoya flashed that softened version of his smile, hoping to be encouraging. Asahi flushed but didn’t shrink away. 

“I’m studying at Bunka Fashion College to be a designer. I’m in my last year.” 

“That’s amazing!” His volume control was lacking; the shock in Azumane’s expression politely informed him that he should try to keep it down a little, so he tried a joke instead - more quietly this time. “I guess that explains your sweaters.”

Asahi’s eyes widened, but so did the smile on his lips. “My-- what’s wrong with my sweaters?” 

“Nothing, nothing!” Noya’s grin was getting bigger. His hand finally withdrew so that he could gesture both upwards in surrender. “Nothing at all, you look great in sweaters. And very…” He shrugged his mouth and dragged his eyes over the taller man’s chest, trying not to focus on how this particular sweater was more fitted than the others he had seen and oh my _god_ he must have been the type to work out because those _shoulders_ \-- “...y’know, studious.”

Asahi laughed, a low and breathy sound that left his throat in a huff. “Did you just call me a nerd?” he asked and the grin he got back was rakish and sly. 

“Maybe.” 

“Alright then, what about you? What do you like to do?” 

Noya leaned back against his booth - or tried to, but then the lip of his snapback knocked against the wooden lattice of the paper screen and he huffed instead of cursing. Slender hands reached up to pull the cap off and adjust it forward, showing the briefest glimpse of his soft, unspiked hair. 

“M’ a bike messenger, so I do that like five or six days most weeks and then I got kind of… not like, a _full_ schedule, but I get into it.” His teeth were flashed, apparent amusement at himself. “I help out with a friend’s small business sometimes but most days I actually…” A rare look of embarrassment passed over his face, eyes off to one side and lips hiking into a severely lopsided smirk; it pushed in a dimple that made Asahi want to die a little. “There’s this like, little league team I help coach?” This was an unexpected but not unwelcome surprise, apparently, because Asahi’s smile got wide and warm with delight. 

“You play a sport?” 

“Yeah, I play a sport!” Yū laughed immediately, that loud and boisterous cackle, unafraid of the way it bounced off the izakaya’s hard surfaces. “Soccer!”

“Wow, really? Soccer?” 

“Hey thanks for that _tone,_ ” he shot back, his grin going sharp with a wry sort of amusement. “Yes really, soccer. I was a goalkeeper in high school and college.”

“A goalkeeper?

“Yeah, that’s the guy that stays by the goal for most of the game. It’s the last line of defense, you know? Sort of a specialist.” Asahi looked awestruck; Noya felt his cheeks heating and started rambling to cover it. “It’s not-- I mean it’s not that impressive, I have fun with it and it’s cool. I don’t play so much anymore - like some pickup games sometimes, when I can find a team to play with? But the kids I coach are like... they’re good kids, you know? And they never make fun of me for bein’ short.” A pause for consideration. “Well... most of them don’t, anyways.” Another laugh, this one just as loud as the first; Asahi smiled in response, shy but warm. 

“What do you go to college for?” 

Yū’s expression shifted into something conflicted, a tightness forming around a grin that had been pinned in place, eyes on the table. He should have expected it to follow - why had he mentioned college? It had just slipped out. Out of a need to fidget, he reached up to adjust his hat needlessly; he ruffled the hair underneath it before resituating the cap slightly off-kilter on his head.

Their waitress appeared with beverages - Asahi’s iced tea and Noya’s diet Coke - and took their food orders. When she had disappeared back into the kitchen, Asahi kindly shifted the conversation away from something that was, evidently, a sensitive topic. 

“What, uh-- what did you do for your birthday?” 

Nishinoya’s face brightened, grin shaking loose and into something less stiff. 

“My roommate - best friend, Ryū - he threw me a surprise party. That was actually-- that was why I had to book it out of there so quick, he called me with a fake emergency, otherwise I wouldn’t have bolted like that.” Azumane’s cheeks started to heat; Noya felt his expression go wicked. “I had _actually_ wanted to stay and get this really hot guy’s phone number.” 

Asahi turned bright pink, evident even in the low lighting. “Hot… hot guy?” he asked and cleared his throat, trying to look nonchalant as he took a sip of his iced tea.

It didn’t work.

His date was not-so-privately delighted.

“Yeah, maybe you know him. Real tall and dreamy. Likes to bake - and he’s real good at it, too.” 

Asahi appeared to be doing his best impression of a galapagos turtle; his shoulders went up around his red ears at the same time as his head tried to shrink into his flushed neck. Noya leaned his chin into the palm of his hand, supported by an elbow on the table, and watched the big man in front of him crumple with embarrassment. When his victim had suffered enough, he brought the end of his half-wrapped straw to his mouth and blew the rest of the paper sleeve across the space between them. It booped against Asahi’s nose and he blinked twice in surprise, then let out a poorly suppressed giggle that hit Yū right in the chest, his grin ratcheted up almost as high as it would go.

\----

The conversation meandered over innocuous topics until food arrived. Asahi talked about the classes he liked, Noya extrapolated on Yaku and their time playing soccer together in high school. Their waitress returned with dinner and they both quietly observed pre-meal custom before reaching for chopsticks. Asahi had a pair full of ramen halfway to his mouth when he realized that his date wasn’t moving for his utensils. Instead, he had reached into his sweatshirt to retrieve a snap-top cellphone bag and was fiddling with the contents just under the table. There came the quiet sound of a plastic cap opening, a faint tearing, and a small mechanical _ka-chunk,_ then a pair of beeps separated by a pause of a few seconds. Yū brought his finger to his lips and held the tip of it in between for a few moments while he considered the dinner in front of him: miso soup, mixed veggies, white rice, glazed yakitori, pickles. He blinked to attention when he noticed Asahi watching him. 

“Sorry,” the smaller man said immediately, an uncharacteristically sheepish smile on his face, and dropped his hand from his mouth to rub it up and down along his thigh instead. He didn’t follow up before turning his attention back to his lap and Asahi was left listening to the soft sounds of tearing paper and plastic clicking together, almost imperceptible over the quiet ambient music drifting out of the restaurant’s speaker system. 

“Is that, uh.” he started before his brain could catch up, then quietly cursed himself. It probably wasn’t his place to ask. It was how they had been introduced, though, so maybe it was okay? Plus, he had already started asking. Chickening out would just make it awkward, clog the conversation with things left unsaid. His chopsticks were lowered to rest in his bowl so that he could gesture to his wrist, his eyes on the spot where Noya’s tattoo was peeking out from under the long white sleeve of his undershirt. “Is that… for your...?” 

“The diabetes, yeah.” It didn’t seem like Yū had to look to know what he was being asked. His attention was still on his lap, grin small and tight with resignation. Something in his hands went _click click click._

“Can I… ask you about that?” 

There was a moment where it looked like Nishinoya might say no. The corner of his lips screwed up into his cheek and his eyes went half-lidded, but not in the good way. Azumane felt his chest clench. The fist around his lungs grew more insistent at the passive frailty of the reply he got.

“Yeah, if you want.” 

“I just-- I kind of… was surprised, you know? You don’t--” Asahi gestured haltingly, then realized he had been preparing to make a comment about Noya’s body and folded his hands in his lap instead. “I thought diabetes was something unhealthy people got, so I was... confused.”

“That’s _not--”_ The reply was immediate and sharp, a pile of past conversations pressing on the back of Yū’s voice that had left wounds behind. He stopped himself saying the rest. His hands stilled and his jaw went tight, larynx flexing with a swallow. It took him a moment. Asahi wondered if he was counting to ten. “That’s not how it works.” The anger had been replaced with quiet exhaustion, that bone-weariness Azumane had felt in him almost a month prior on a Shibuya sidewalk. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“No, it’s okay, it’s--” Noya held up a placating hand when he scrambled. “--it’s a common misconception.” 

To hear his voice so empty, the boisterous laugh gone, was almost painful. A question hung in the air. Pensive brown eyes watched Nishinoya chew on the inside of his cheek before he seemed able to speak again. 

“There’s different kinds of diabetes. There’s the one everyone knows about but that’s not what I’ve got.” His hands went back to work. _Click click click._ “Mine’s an auto-immune thing. Nobody really knows why it happens but one day my body decided that one of my organs didn’t belong, so it attacked itself.” 

Asahi’s mouth felt dry. He couldn’t tell if it was the story or the way it was being told, the hollowness of words that had been repeated and repeated until they meant nothing to the speaker, a practiced speech to regurgitate when necessary. When Noya looked up and grinned again, the expression didn’t reach his eyes. Performative. Azumane’s chest hurt. 

“Kind of a fancy name for ‘organ failure,’ ain’t it?” A joke followed by a laugh. 

Asahi forced a weak smile onto his face. Performative. They lapsed into silence.

“I didn’t know,” he replied quietly after a pause; Yū shrugged. He held up the insulin pen he had in his hand, already prepped. 

“It’s treatable, you know? Not like I need a transplant, it just…” His face fell again as he looked back down into his lap, lips pressed into a tight, grim line. “...it’s forever. And it sucks.” This appeared to be more than he had been prepared to share; a tense discomfort pulled at his shoulders and he had to roll them to release it, clearing his throat while he did. “Sorry, I can go do it in the bathroom if you don’t--”

“No no, it’s okay,” Asahi held up a broad hand, then set it against the table. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for drawing attention to it, you probably don’t... _love_ that.” 

Nishinoya’s smile snuck back onto a face that didn’t seem quite ready to accept it. The return of warmth to his expression allowed the fist around his companion’s lungs to relax, a breath of relief released quietly through his nose, and he gestured his hand in a slight, palm-down wave towards Noya: _go ahead._

“Let me just remember my manners and stop staring.” The smile got bigger and Asahi’s did too as he reached for his chopsticks. With his eyes on his tonkatsu he only caught the flash of skin in the periphery of his vision, the pale strip of belly exposed before the pen was applied to flesh, dose dispensed with a series of soft, rapid clicks. The cap was replaced and the supplies returned to their bag and then Noya rejoined him for dinner and Asahi felt sunlight again. 

\----

Yū spent the latter half of their meal coaxing more conversation out of his date, the go-to topic being his favorite hobby. It was getting late for him but he didn’t care; he could have spent hours watching Asahi talk about cakes and macarons and whatever the fuck a choux bun actually was, he hadn’t quite understood the explanation (although that might have been because he had been paying more attention to Asahi’s mouth than the words that had been coming out of it). The gentle giant would go off on a long-winded ramble about a certain thing he had made or tried to make and when he realized how lengthy it had gotten he would come back to himself, turn adorably pink and try to shrink into his shoulders. Noya wanted to devour him. 

As much as he wanted to see what shade his beau would turn if he shared that fact, he decided he should probably keep it to himself, at least for now.

Nishinoya _insisted_ upon paying for dinner. He had been the asker-outer, after all, and he had wanted to make good on his request from their first encounter. Asahi sheepishly pushed back and the sight of him blushing and stumbling over himself was so endearing, it was agreed that they could split it while Noya smiled into the palm that was propping up his face. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to lunge across the table. The two went to the counter and paid for their meals before heading back out into the chill of the fall evening, Asahi in dad fashion and the spitfire beside him in appropriate red. 

“So I know you like _making_ desserts, but do you actually like eating ‘em?” Yū asked, hands jammed deep enough into his sweatshirt pockets that it pulled the garment away from his belly. “Do you have a favorite?” His expression was full of warmth again, earlier unpleasantness forgotten beneath food and conversation. He was walking backwards, the two of them headed towards a park nearby; this seemed to worry Asahi, who was smiling nervously and taking extra little half-steps towards him with a hand reached out every time it looked like the smaller man might run into something. Noya may or may not have continued walking backwards in order to see this reaction as many times as he could get away with, each one turning his grin momentarily raffish. 

“I mean yeah, I like desserts as much as the next guy.” Asahi put his hands in his jacket pockets in an attempt to steady them, having caught onto the ruse, and smiled the sort of easy smile that Nishinoya was getting better at pulling out of him - the one that made his insides feel all wobbly. “I really like chocolate cake? Which probably sounds like nothing special, it’s just-- my mom used to make it for my birthday?” The smile grew wider. Some hair came loose from where it was tucked into his scarf and fell into his face. Noya felt his heart thud against his sternum. “So I guess it-- it feels special, or nostalgic or something.” 

“When’s your birthday?” he asked immediately, suddenly very invested in learning how to make chocolate cake. 

“January 1st.” Asahi replied with an embarrassed little grin that Noya wanted to eat. 

“Duly noted.” There was a moment of silence where the smaller, more boisterous man let his taller, more timid companion calm himself down. This process had proven to be a necessity over the course of dinner in order to keep him from getting _too_ flustered - the ideal range being somewhere above ‘pale pink’ and but not quite reaching the ‘fumbling’ threshold. He fell into step beside his lumbering companion and snuck glances up at his red face, the way the color burned brighter against the pale scarf he was wearing. They were close enough together that his shoulder would occasionally bump into Asahi’s bicep, sometimes on accident. _Sometimes._

“What about you?” 

“Huh?” Yū had completely lost the train of conversation, too invested in staring at a jawline that looked like it was made of marble. His own expression went slack, mouth open and eyes wide, brows raised, and when Azumane glanced over he had to stifle his breathy chuckle by hiding his chin and mouth inside his scarf. 

“Dessert,” Asahi repeated gently once he had recovered. “Do you have a favorite? Or--” His brows drew together with slight concern. “Do you even… I never asked, can you eat dessert?” He must have been worried about whether or not the question was _allowed_ because his face got tighter and tighter until Noya let him off the hook with a snort of a laugh and a grin. 

“Yeah, I can eat dessert. I ate your cake, remember? Which was delicious, I don’t think I’ve told you that in person yet.” 

Asahi colored a beautiful deep magenta and mumbled a _thanks_ and Yū felt like there was a rollercoaster in his chest. 

“Favorite dessert, huh?” He forced his eyes up to the dark sky above them. The few stars that could still be seen past the lights of Tokyo paled in comparison to the view beside him, but staring wasn’t exactly cool and he had already been doing a lot of it. Even though he knew his answer already, he took a moment to consider, to remember. “It’s kind of stupid,” he admitted after a pause and Asahi turned to look at him. 

“I won’t think it’s stupid.” 

Noya felt the tender words rather than hearing them and his grin pressed wider into his cheeks as he turned his head to meet that warm gaze. 

“Popsicles.” 

Asahi’s smile grew. 

“Gari Gari Kun, soda flavor.” This time he was the one turning colors; having those soft brown eyes on him just _did something_ to his stomach, pumped it all full of butterflies. “It’s-- I don’t eat them that much anymore, too much sugar for an everyday snack, but _man,” h_ e sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a huff through his nose, adopting a wishful expression while he stared off into the distance. “I fuckin’ love those things.” There was silence for a moment and then he felt the firm swell of Asahi’s bicep press purposefully into his shoulder and heard a quietly satisfied voice sneak out past the knit of a cream-colored scarf. 

“Duly noted.” 

\----

The park wasn’t terribly populated, not past ten o’clock on a Sunday night, which suited Asahi just fine. He preferred the quiet - which was ironic, he decided, given that he was on a date with one of the _loudest_ human beings he had ever met. He didn’t mind that, though. Nishinoya spoke about things with the sort of passion most people seemed afraid to exhibit, himself included. His adult life had been a long practice at making himself smaller, less imposing, less noticeable. He generally wanted nothing more than to press himself into something two-dimensional and slide along the outskirts of any crowd or social event. 

Nishinoya, in contrast, was the sort of person he figured enjoyed being right in the middle, his energy wild and free-form. They lit on a topic of particular interest when skateboarding came up. Yū had been learning, apparently - ‘a new challenge to master,’ as he had put it - and while he couldn’t properly demonstrate the techniques he had been working on without the appropriate equipment, he was very intent to try. Asahi watched with cautious excitement (and a not-insignificant amount of anxiety that he felt he was doing an admirable job of hiding) as the smaller man jumped up on a bench (which, wow, how high could he jump?). He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, gesturing along the edge of the seat and talking loudly about how if he was on his board, he would grind along ‘just like this,’ accompanied by a sort of _vvvwsh_ sound effect that did not help his explanation make any more sense. 

Asahi laughed anyways, a deep, genuine sound from low in his chest. The grin he got back was so massive it nearly pressed those honey-brown eyes shut. Nishinoya hopped down and fell back into step beside him, the two sharing an amicable silence while they wandered along a paved path between two lawns, greenery spotted with fallen yellow ginkgo leaves. Even though the walkway was a solid four meters wide, they were lingering closer and closer to each other; their shoulders and arms kept brushing and it felt significant no matter how many times it happened. It was lucky they both had their hands in their pockets, Asahi decided, because if they hadn’t he would have been having a hard time not reaching out to twist their fingers together. Maybe it was a shame, he thought in retrospect, and not lucky at all since he would actually _really_ enjoy that.

“So, I know you said you don’t have a lot of free time since you’ve got work and stuff,” Yū started after a while. “But if you _did,_ what sort of things would you do with it?”

There was a pause while Asahi thought it over, deciding whether or not to share. He tilted his head upward, his turn to look at the almost perfect grey-black of the sky to prevent himself staring at the sunspot beside him. “I like to draw.” There was a gentle smile on his face as he thought about the sketchbook he had back at his apartment - not the ones he had full of project concepts, but the other one, the one with a faded black cover and slight boxing around the edges. “I do it a lot for school, but I don’t really get to just draw whatever I want that often.” When he turned his head, he found two big, golden-brown eyes watching him intently, all laser focus above a smile that was soft with delight.

“That’s so cool,” the reply came out awed and quiet and Asahi felt it in his gut. Before he could sputter over an embarrassed response, Nishinoya bounded towards a bike rack the two had been approaching. He didn’t hesitate to climb up onto his own - the one that looked too big for him, like a kid on his father’s bicycle. When he stood astride it with a foot on each pedal, it made him several centimeters taller; this gave his dramatics a little more flair when he brought the back of his wrist to his forehead, snapback reversed once more, and leaned into his shoulder while his opposite hand pressed to his chest. 

“If I say you should ‘draw me like one of your French girls,’ is that sexual harassment?” His grin was infectious. Asahi’s amusement showed on his face despite his flush, feet carrying him forward to narrow the distance between them. 

“I think I’d have to take issue with the idea for it to be considered ‘harassment.’” he pointed out and in a very on-brand display, realized what he had said only once a slow, devilish grin had snaked its way across Noya’s face. The immediate instinct was to panic and cover himself, to backtrack and change what he had let slip, but Asahi found he didn’t really want to; he had meant it. This didn’t stop him from turning a very dark shade of pink and averting his eyes, finding the neckline of his companion’s t-shirt past the mostly-done zipper of his hoodie, then his bare neck - which he belatedly decided that he really shouldn’t be staring at, because the pale skin was making something hot coil up below his stomach. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Asahi tried not to choke on the lump that had taken up residence in his throat. He knew he was getting redder by the second. His big hands finally left his pockets and reached up to pull at the fabric of his scarf, desperate for any sort of distraction from his personal ineptitude. When he looked up again Yū was watching him with a pensive and quietly coy expression, clear eyes tracking his movements as thick arms reached up and out. Cream-colored knit was brought around the back of a slender neck, wrapped carefully until the ends of the scarf could be draped over his shoulders and down his back. His smaller arms had retired to his sides, unwilling to interrupt what was happening. 

They were very close.

“I’m just gonna get cold again when you take it back,” Nishinoya pointed out, his voice devoid of any genuine argument. 

“You can borrow it.” Asahi replied, quiet. His gaze fell from golden-brown eyes to lips that had gone pink with the cold, a pointed chin threatening to disappear behind his scarf. 

Only the handles of the bike were separating them. All he had to do was lean forward, just a little. 

“S’ that mean you want another date?” Noya asked. His own voice was shrinking with the closeness, moderated for proximity. 

Asahi nodded, his throat too full of cotton for a proper response. 

“Duly noted,” Yū murmured. 

Only a few centimeters. He could see a hint of white teeth past those gently parted lips.

“I’m trans.”

\----

Oh fuck. Oh shit. He hadn’t meant to say it, not really. His mind had been absorbed in the warmth of the knit against his neck and the proximity of Asahi’s chest to his, the weight of heavy fingers against the handles of his bike, the heat in the air between them despite the chill of the late fall evening. He had spent three hours falling head-over-heels for the man in front of him - the one he had startled away from after he had confessed, his eyes wide and his lips curled inward. 

Asahi, to his credit, only appeared surprised. The disgust could come later, his brain helpfully reminded him, once the understanding set in. Asahi blinked a few times, undoubtedly trying to process what had been said; Yū hit the ground running with his verbal stumbling. 

“Sorry! That was-- I probably could have prefaced that with something, or like led up to it, or”--he lifted his hands, gesturing with his palms out, half placating and half apologizing--“I just didn’t-- I thought you might want to _know_ , like before-- before anything happened that couldn’t _un_ happen so I just--” He swallowed thickly, anxiety choking at his lungs. The park wasn’t well-populated, but there were people around. If he screamed, would someone help him? A confusing but not unfamiliar mix of fear and shame welled up inside him while he watched Asahi compute, still looking more dazed than anything else.

“You’re-- right, okay.” the taller man replied after a moment, which wasn’t helpful except that it wasn’t immediately threatening. 

“Yeah.” Noya offered somewhat meekly, feeling equally unhelpful and uncomfortable. 

“So I’m... _gay,_ ” Asahi said after a moment and nodded once for emphasis. 

“R...right, yeah.” Nishinoya visibly deflated, shoulders slumped, fingers reaching up to start tugging the scarf away from his wilted expression while his gaze hit the pavement. 

“And you’re a man.”

Not a question. Clear eyes shot up to look through dark lashes, focus rekindled. 

“Yes.” he replied with cautious optimism. 

“So I guess that… works out.” Asahi concluded. His expression was reserved and hopeful, eyebrows slightly raised. 

The warmth was overwhelming. A spring opened in his chest, pouring out of a small, scared part of him and filling the rest. Noya opened his mouth to speak and hiccupped instead, his eyes and lips closing so he could swallow down the heat happening behind his face, the pressure trying to force its way out of his tear ducts. He felt tightness ease that he hadn’t known was there, a shaky breath drawn in through his nose, and then a very large hand touching lightly against his very small elbow. 

“Noya, are you--”

“Can I kiss you?” It burst out of him with just as much force as the confession - more, maybe. “Like, _a lot,_ preferably?” His voice was wet. He didn’t care. Big, brown eyes focused on a gaze that was equally warm, albeit concerned, and a sheepish little smile that was sneaking across dry lips. Asahi nodded and if he had meant to say anything in response, he didn’t get the chance. A slight body lunged forward across too-big handlebars, small hands grabbing at green-khaki lapels, weight accepted by a tall, sturdy frame that leaned in to support it. 

Mouths met, forceful and then soft and quietly needy. Broad and timid hands found a strong, slight waist. Lips parted. Teeth touched; laughter bubbled out of winded chests, quiet but joyful and unrestrained. Foreheads touched while breath was captured again. Noya felt a smile that was too big for his face, pressing so far into his cheeks that it hurt, and curled his fingers a little more tightly into the fabric of Asahi’s jacket. He realized that the larger man’s skin was shiny with wet; one hand released its grip to reach up instead, cupping a jaw made of marble that trembled against its touch while his thumb wiped away a fresh tear. 

“Sorry, I just--” Asahi’s voice was thick. “--I just really like you.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Yū chided, though his voice was hardly above a murmur. “I really like you too.” 

Another laugh, breathy and soft, escaped the larger man and the smaller let out one to match before placing a tender, lingering kiss against those dry lips. One kiss turned to two and then three and then more, slow and chaste and sweet. Noya wanted to deepen them but he also didn’t; he would have done anything to prolong the moment, to stay close and breathless and sharing heat in the chill of an October evening. 

\----

The disentanglement process began in a way that was…unceremonious. The two separated for air and when big, brown eyes turned up to look at Asahi, they found a pair of very fogged glasses. A laugh burst out of Noya, louder than either of them especially wanted it to be but Azumane smiled anyways, even while his face heated to a striking shade of beet red. He realized that at some point, his hand had started edging up the smaller man’s ribs and he shifted it away again; the other had curled its big fingers around the slender ones that were holding tightly to his jacket. Both moved, half out of nervousness but more so he could retrieve his glasses and clean the lenses with the hem of his sweater. Just as some hair fell into his blurred field of vision, he felt a palm press to either of his cheeks to hold him still. 

Nishinoya was inspecting him and it rekindled the color in his face, his skin growing hotter the longer they stared at each other. After what felt like a very long time (but was probably only a few seconds), his captor finally spoke. 

“Pretty eyes,” Noya sighed, dreamy, and when Asahi tried to hide in his shirt he let out a delighted laugh and stroked his thumbs affectionately against the larger man’s cheeks. 

It was decided - with reluctance from both parties - that they had probably better not keep kissing in the middle of a public park, even in the relative dark. Before they could separate, Nishinoya pulled him down for one last embrace, his lips eager rather than forceful. Asahi was pretty sure that if he made the sound he wanted to, neither of them would be willing to part, so he struggled through the urge and suppressed the moan in his throat.

“You have Wednesdays off, right?” his date asked cheerfully when they had untangled themselves and he nodded, still fiddling with his glasses and definitely _not_ avoiding putting them on in the hopes that Noya would stare at his eyes again. “I don’t, but I’d still like to see you.” Hearing this should not have been like being on an amusement park ride, he decided, but there he was with a rush in his stomach and wind in his hair. Thankfully, Yū was distracted by the process of unlocking his bike and missed the wide, embarrassed smile that pressed hard into his cheeks. 

“I’m done with classes around five,” Asahi offered and got a predatory glance from behind the bike rack in return that sent a spike of heat down his spine. “If you… if you wanted to get coffee?” The glance turned into a grin and a nod and he let out a shaky breath before hiding his face with his hands in the process of replacing his glasses. 

“He station’s close, right? I can walk you.” Noya pulled his Fuji - a vintage racing model, all sharp angles and rounded handlebars, that had been repainted in a near-neon shade of orange - free from its support and returned with it to the path. Asahi belatedly realized that the watermelon helmet was buckled into the chain lock and for some reason the sight of it made another smile press into his cheeks. 

“If-- If you’re sure--” The stutter got him another knowing glance and he swallowed his heart down from where it had jumped into his throat. “That would be really nice.” Asahi appended and got another coy, pleased look in return before they moved together towards the park’s entrance, the bike in between. Halfway there, Noya stopped them so that he could skirt around it, beaming when their arms brushed against each other. Asahi felt his heart squeeze. 

The pair lingered outside the station gates, close but not _too_ close, until the last possible second. Asahi wanted to stay but he could see the sleep creeping into the corners of Yū’s eyes. As much as he liked the idea of his wee companion running on literal batteries, overflowing with endless energy, he knew how exhausting it could be to stay awake literally from dawn until dusk. He lifted heavy hands to take careful hold of the ends of his scarf and felt the smile spread across his face just watching Noya incline his head downward, his chin dipping behind the furled fabric around his neck. For as devilish as he could look, there was sweetness in those delicate features. 

“You’re so cute,” he murmured, off-handed, and let slip a laugh that was louder than he meant it to be when his small companion burned red and swatted his shoulder half-heartedly. For all the protests, Nishinoya’s mouth was turned up at the edges. Azumane went to release his hold on the scarf he had just tied but was stopped by a hand grabbing his lapel and tugging him down into one last slow, lingering kiss. The embrace was chaste and affectionate up until the moment teeth nipped at his lower lip. It was just a hint, just enough that when he pulled back, his own face was changing colors. Yū sprouted a rakish grin and let a triumphant little laugh slip out of his throat. 

“I’ll see you soon, Asahi.”

No honorifics.

His stomach fluttered. 

“See you soon, Noya.” 

Asahi spent his entire train ride smiling uncontrollably at the floor. 

\----

“Ryuuuu!” The excited cry came amongst the sounds of his roommate returning home: the slam of a door being kicked open and then shut, the banging of a too-big bike being dragged into the front entryway, the thumping of socked feet running along the hallway floor. 

“Noyaaaa,” he called back just before the man himself came sailing into view on his right side. As was now (apparently) customary, he threw himself over the back of the couch and face-planted into the cushions, meaning that Tanaka only got a good look at the wide, dopey grin he was wearing once he turned his head to the side. 

“I take it you hated it, then.” he tried to sound deadpan, but he couldn’t keep the amusement sneaking into his tone while he pretended to be absorbed in his Shōnen Jump.

“Absolutely hated it,” Yū agreed immediately, his voice dreamy. “Every minute. The worst.” 

Tanaka tried not to let the huge fucking grin he was wearing be too obvious, but that was a losing battle and he knew it. 

“Good.” he said definitively and shut his magazine. After a pause, he reached out and shoved Noya in the shoulder; the happy little sigh he got in return made him snort. “Gross.” 

“Deal with it,” Noya mumbled and nuzzled deeper into Asahi’s scarf, which was still tied around his neck and smelled like coffee and vanilla. 

\----

Asahi returned to his little apartment with his neck cold and his core hot. He toed off his shoes and flopped onto his western-style double bed, face-down in his pillow, glasses smashed uncomfortably up against his forehead - not that he seemed to notice. He was too busy smiling like an idiot, remembering the feeling of soft lips against his own. Which reminded him, he really did need to get a chapstick. He always forgot or lost them the minute he bought one. Probably should just get a lanyard and get it over with, especially if that was going to keep--

Several insistent buzzes caused a disturbance against his thigh; he rolled over and fished his phone out of his pocket, smirking at the new name that had been assigned to the group chat. 

**[The Church of Suga-sama]**

Sugasama: Asahi

Sugasama: ASAHI

Sugasama: Asahi I need to know what HAPPENED

Thighchi: Asahi please text back so they calm down. It’s worse in person

Thighchi: Kō why are you the only one that gets a normal username? >:[

Sugasama: if you learned how to reassign them yourselves, you could have normal ones too 

Nervasahi: hey I’m here 

Sugasama: ASAHI

Sugasama: HOW WAS IT?

Thighchi: I can confirm that they are literally yelling, please make them stop

Nervasahi: it was amazing 

Thighchi: ok now they’re just squealing into their fist so that’s… better 

Nervasahi: he’s amazing 

Nervasahi: that’s literally 

Nervasahi: my brain is failing to summon the words, I’m just really happy

Thighchi: I think Kō might be broken, so let me just say for both of us

Thighchi: we’re really happy for you, man

Nervasahi: thanks c:

Asahi hauled himself up to go bathe and as he sat submerged in his little tub, his big knees pulled all the way up to his chest so he would fit, he found the silence of the bathroom… _pleasant._ Typically he would play music as white noise so that he didn’t get swallowed up in his thoughts, but it just didn’t feel necessary when his mind had something better to focus on. The insulated quiet of steam and tile and the occasional _plink_ of a drop of water falling from the faucet were accompanied by visions of a gleaming smile and sharp, kind eyes, of small hands and soft lips and a loud voice. He was so distracted that he didn’t realize he was smiling until the water was cooling and his face was starting to hurt. 

When he was dried and dressed, he shuffled back out to his bedroom and checked his phone. The smile returned immediately and in full force, aching cheeks be damned, accompanied by a healthy number of butterflies in his stomach. 

Noya: sooo… what are you doing for Halloween? ;) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is gonna be Halloween! :D I would have loved to get it up in time for actual Halloween but I didn't realize it was going to be a Thing until it was too late. Wah. :c It will still be, appropriately, very sweet. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you will all look forward to a sucrose-rich next chapter. :D
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/SystemicWrites)


	3. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW HI, IT'S BEEN A WHILE, HUH? 
> 
> It's a long story, but the short version is that I'm human. ┐(︶▽︶;;)┌ So here we are. 
> 
> PLEASE NOTE!! THE RATING OF THIS FIC HAS CHANGED!! It is now M, which is part of why it took so long to finish this installment. A second part will be released (hopefully soon) that will be the 'E' counterpart, but that's the bit that was blocking my brain so it's gonna be its own thing. Eventually. When it's done, I'll post a link to it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237827) and in the body of the text, probably. If at any point things progress past something you want to read, please use the ctrl + f function to jump to 'After both of them had come down'. You will be back in T-rated territory. 
> 
> All that said, this chapter is a bit of a ride. There's a lot of self-indulgent fluff and some mild hurt-comfort-type stuff. I hope you enjoy. :D
> 
> I yell about stuff on [twitter](https://twitter.com/SystemicWrites), if u wanna come say hi.
> 
> Big thanks to [OedipusOctopus](https://twitter.com/OedipusOctopus), who was kind enough to beta read this chapter for me!

“Okay, hear me out.” 

Even over the phone, Asahi could tell he didn’t have a chance. He held the device between his ear and shoulder while he gathered pattern pieces off his work station in the studio, looking skeptical behind his glasses. 

“Oka-aaay…” he drawled. 

“So I know we agreed to watch horror movies at your place--”

“I said _Halloween_ movies!”

“--but I had another idea.” Noya kept barreling right along despite the interruption. The sound of weight equipment clacking together could be heard faintly in the background. “How would you feel about going trick-or-treating?” 

Asahi froze in place, brows drawn in and lips shrugged in confusion.

“Trick-or-treating?” His disbelief was audible. He had been afraid Noya might propose going to a party; this was somehow both better _and_ worse. 

“Yeah, there’s a couple kids from my team who asked me to take them. One of their brothers usually does it? But he’s away for his first year at uni, so he can’t.” There was a pause where Noya pulled away to dismiss a question someone was directing at him before he came back to speak again. “It’s the problem kid too, the one who makes fun of me for bein’ short. I wanna use my superpower to make him lay off.” 

“‘Super power’?” Asahi’s amused smile snuck into his voice. 

“Yeah, adults always think I’m like twelve, so I can still get away with trick-or-treating.” 

The laugh burst out of him before he had a chance to stop it, a bark from the middle of his chest. The delighted little snort on the other end of the line assured him that he hadn’t managed to offend. 

“If I can get them extra candy, I bet it’ll change his tune. At least for a while.” 

Admittedly, Asahi wanted to hang out at his place. The two of them had gone on a lunch date and a coffee date in the last week but Noya had had to pick up an extra shift, so there hadn’t been a chance for dinner. He wanted time alone together, wanted to be selfish and keep that smile and those copper eyes and that boisterous laugh all to himself. 

If he were _really_ being honest, he would admit to wanting more kisses, too. 

“I mean are you sure you… Are you sure they’ll want me around, since they just asked you?”

“Are you kidding? They’ll love you! C’mon, it’ll be so much fun, I promise. They’re really good kids.” 

The insistent confidence that Yū possessed was endearing and infectious. It made Asahi’s eyes crinkle with fondness and managed to take the edge off his nerves. 

“Yeah, okay.” he conceded and slid the drawer on his station shut. “It does sound kind of fun.” 

“Oh man, awesome! It’s gonna be so great, I promise--” Noya was interrupted by another question from a voice that was gruff and muffled. They exchanged a few words before he came back to the call. “Hey listen, I gotta go help Ryū with a thing. Think about what costume you’re gonna wear, okay?” 

“Wh--? _Costume?_ Why do I have to--” 

“I’ll call you later and we can brainstorm, okay? I’m so excited!” 

The human whirlwind Asahi had somehow ended up dating hung up and he was left looking bemusedly down at the phone in his hand, not sure if he should be feeling so fond of someone who found so much joy in taking him out of his comfort zone. 

\----

“Asahi, you have to wear a costume to go trick-or-treating. It’s like, the law.” Noya was elbow-deep in his closet, rifling through old clothes to compile an outfit that was kid-appropriate. 

“‘The law’?” Asahi questioned through the receiver, amused and incredulous. 

“Yeah, like kid law. I mean come on, no one’s too cool to wear a costume on Halloween.” 

“You know I would never call myself _too cool_ for anything.” 

This sentiment made Yū pout, lips pursed and eyes sharp. 

“I happen to think you’re _very_ cool,” he replied, matter-of-fact, and was certain that the quiet on the other end of the phone was the result of Asahi trying to imitate a turtle. “Are you hiding in your sweater?” he asked and got the faintest huff of air in response, bringing the grin back to his face in full force. “God, you’re so cute.” 

“Noya!” The protest was half-hearted at best. 

“Well then don’t do cute things,” he replied indignantly and returned to narrowing down his options. “C’mon, you don’t even have to go all-out with the costume. Just _something._ ”

“I’ve just never been good at this stuff.” 

“Asahi, you’re a fashion design student.” 

“I knoooow!” 

The dismayed wail made a smile press into his cheeks that was warm and affectionate. Noya’s hands stilled when they touched soft, grey fabric, an idea taking shape in his head. 

“Okay, you know what? How about I pick out a costume for you?” 

Dead silence. 

“I’ll bring it with me when I come get you.” 

“Wh-- You’re not even going to tell me what it is?” 

“If I show up and you hate it, you don’t have to wear it.” 

More silence, tense with expectation but otherwise unburdened. Yū tugged out his decided-on garment and tossed it onto his bed before going to root through the drawer of his small desk. 

“Okay.” 

Delight lit up his entire face. 

“I promise I’ll make it good.” 

“I trust you.” 

This maybe shouldn’t have meant as much to him as it did, but there he was feeling warmed all the way to his bones, his chest full of cotton and his stomach full of butterflies. 

“Better be careful what you say to me.” 

“Well don’t make me regret it _already!”_

Noya cackled, head thrown back and honey-brown eyes shut, his smile so wide it hurt his face. 

\----

Noya: are you ready for TONIGHT?

Asahi: as ready as I’m going to get

Asahi: you’re sure the kids will like me?

Noya: I’m sure at least half of them will like you 

Noya: the other half are kind of hard to read

Asahi: oh god

Noya: but I’m going to be there and I like you :D

Asahi: okay, not fair

Noya: >:D

Asahi: what time are you coming over? 

Noya: so I actually said I would help Ryū at the gym for a couple hours after work

Noya: any chance I could use your shower after? Like around 5?

Noya: it’ll be faster if I just have to change the once 

Asahi’s thumb hesitated over his keyboard while his teeth worried at the inside of his lower lip. _Could_ Noya use his shower? Yes. Whether or not Asahi could handle the thought of him in his shower was another matter entirely. 

Asahi: yeah no problem 

Noya: you sure?

Asahi: absolutely 

Absolutely _not_.

Noya: awesome, thanks!!

And then, a few minutes later,

Noya: hey by the way, do you have a brown shirt? o:

\----

Asahi was fully prepared for the doorbell to ring, but he jumped at the sound anyways. Noya had refused to expand on the costume he had planned and so he was left twisting in his fitted jeans and brown button-down, feeling like a dad from the 70s when he opened the door to his favorite spitfire. The grin he was met with made his heart flutter in his chest while the sight of thick thighs straining against lycra hit him significantly lower, resulting in flush rushing to his cheeks. His eyes had just lifted to graze along collarbones, pronounced against the thin fabric of his shirt, when Noya cleared his throat. 

“Missed you too,” he teased with a toothy smirk and tilted slightly to one side, peering into the apartment around his tree trunk of a boyfriend. 

“Sorry, I-- Yeah, please come in,” Asahi sputtered and stepped aside, gesturing towards the modest interior of his one-bedroom apartment. It was floored with light wood and the walls were white and bare save a picture of a sunset on a beach - one that he had taken himself. 

“Thanks for havin’ me,” Noya beamed and stepped inside, toeing off his trainers before climbing up from the genkan. His workout clothes left little to the imagination; Asahi had to force his eyes onto literally _anything else_ and ended up on the pair of roller skates hanging off his backpack strap by their laces, right beside his favorite watermelon helmet. 

“How many athletic activities are you good at?” Asahi marveled aloud and his partner laughed. 

“As many as I can get my hands on,” he turned to grin over his shoulder and winded the taller man with a glance. “Wouldn’t say I’m great at skating, but it’s a good way to get around when I don’t want to use my bike. Shower?” The look on his face went a little fiendish as he turned to look up at Asahi properly, stepping forward until he was only a few inches away. His fingers strayed dangerously close, threatening to walk up along the other man’s chest. 

“Or did you want to ogle me some more first?” 

Asahi turned bright red and his guest laughed good-naturedly, setting a comforting palm against his chest: _just teasing._ It was a familiar gesture, one that Suga often used to calm him down, and the duality of it made his heart flutter. 

“It’s, uh-- it’s just there,” he managed and gestured to the left of his tiny kitchenette where his small bathroom waited for use - the one he definitely hadn’t cleaned three times to soothe his anxiety over having a guest in it. 

“Thanks, babe,” Noya said and pinched the fabric of Asahi’s shirt between two buttons, using it to tug him down for a fleeting kiss. (If it sent a pulse of electricity through the both of them, neither mentioned it.) He left his skates and his helmet on the genkan before disappearing behind the door, thrilled to be changing out of his sweaty clothes. 

Asahi took a seat at his cramped dining table, the one against the outside wall of the bathroom, because he refused to stare at the door. Instead he pulled out his sketchbook - the one with the worn black cover and boxing around the edges - and flipped to a page already half-full of the radiant smile that had been taking up so much real estate in his brain recently. At the very least, it would keep him from imagining the wiry form of his guest in the next room, stripped and covered in--

No, okay, focus. 

Less than twenty minutes later, the door of the bathroom slid open with a soft _clack._ The smell of lavender and rosemary poured out in a humid cloud that filled the small apartment. Asahi snapped his sketchbook shut, stuffing it hurriedly back into the bag under his table because he was _not_ ready to have that conversation yet - the one about how he could trace Noya’s features from memory, from his pointed chin to his beautiful eyes, and wanted to do so over and over again. When he looked up, slightly flustered, he was met with a vision in grey. 

“What’d’ya think?” Nishinoya asked, grinning wide, and his companion was stunned briefly silent. A kigurumi wasn’t quite the _last_ thing he had expected, but it was still a surprise - and somehow, the koala pattern was… perfect. The white circles painted on his naturally chubby cheeks and little black spot on his nose really took the cake, especially paired with his still-damp hair, hanging limp around his adorable face. 

Asahi felt a sharp squeeze of affection in his chest and smiled, slow and wide and warm, not caring how much of a sap he looked. 

“You look great,” he said earnestly when Noya cocked his head quizzically to one side, an eyebrow hiked, added, “Very cute.” 

A strip of pink heated across the smaller man’s nose and he twisted his lips inward to keep from smiling - a weak attempt at a pout that doubled the squeeze in Asahi’s chest. 

“Well I’m… glad you like it,” Yū managed haltingly and then seemed to come back to himself, perking up again. “And I brought one for you!” 

“I don’t think I’d fit in a kigurumi.”

“Not a ki-- _no,_ smartass, I brought you something different!” Noya laughed once and stooped to go through his bag. The sound of rustling paper was unexpected and ominous. “Okay, close your eyes.” 

Asahi did as he was told, if skeptical, and listened to the shuffling of feet as his companion drew near. The distinctive sound of craft paper made him loft a brow. Delicate fingers were in his hair then; he fought the urge to hum with satisfaction and ask for more of the soft touch. Instead he took stock of the sensation of a headband being slid on and the tickling of something feather-light brushing against his nose. When Noya spoke again, the stifled laughter was evident in his voice. 

“Okay, you can look.” 

Asahi opened his eyes and glanced up at the halo hanging around his head. Lengths of green wire arched off the headband he was wearing, each decorated by one or a few pieces of green construction paper. They were cut into the shape of elongated leaves, pointed at one end. He squinted at them, then at Noya, who was grinning from ear to ear from his position a few feet away. He stepped forward again to stand by Asahi’s side and gestured between the two of them. 

“It’s a couple’s costume,” he explained and when Asahi hid his red face in his hands, Yū let out a loud, delighted cackle. 

\----

On their way to pick up their charges, Noya explained the plan for the night with animated hand gestures. They were going to pick up the kids and take them around the neighborhood for an hour or so and after dropping them off at home, the two of them could go back to one of their apartments and watch a movie or something. He kept stealing glances up at Asahi, the hair hanging in waves around his face and the scruff on his chin, all of it offset by the halo of leaves that he was, notably, still wearing. That fact made his heart thud against his sternum. 

“You ready?” he asked when they stood at the end of a walkway to a classic-style home with a low, blue-tiled roof and white stucco siding. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Asahi replied, voice a little frail, and took a deep breath to steady himself. Noya watched the way his big brown eyes focused on the front door, undoubtedly preparing himself for a disaster that probably wouldn’t hit him. After a beat, he reached up to put his small hand through his companion’s much larger one, wrapping delicate fingers around him and giving a careful, reassuring squeeze. Asahi looked down at him and they held each other’s gaze until little smiles broke across both their faces. 

The doorbell sounded and it was only a few seconds before the door swung inward, revealing a slight woman in a simple dress, hair in a neat, blonde bob. 

“Ah, Nishinoya-san! Thank you so much for coming. They’re all so excited. Oh-- and your friend! Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” 

Asahi stammered and bowed and their host bowed her head slightly in return. 

“My-- it’s my pleasure. I’m Asahi, it’s nice to meet you as well.” 

“Asahi,” Nishinoya started, gesturing to the woman in the doorway, “this is--” 

“NISHINOYA-SAAAN!” 

Yū had been doing this long enough to know what was coming. The sound of tiny footsteps came barreling down the front hall of the house and their host shifted out of the way just in time to let a blur of orange and white and pink rush past her. One running leap later and a small body was colliding with Noya - who, thankfully, had very solidly built thigh and core muscles. 

“Shōyō!” he laughed while wrangling the kid in his arms, trying to keep him from flailing to the ground. “You’re gonna knock me off the front steps, what the heck!” 

“Nishinoya-san are you here to take us trick-or-treating?!” Shōyō demanded, beaming as he was set back down on the ground. 

Asahi stood to one side looking absolutely stunned, eyes wide and arms drawn up to his chest, mouth a tight line. Once he got over being so startled, he would notice how closely the two people in front of him resembled each other - namely their blinding smiles. 

“You bet, kiddo!” 

“YAAAY!” 

“Hinata, stop _yelling,_ ” came a much quieter voice from the doorway. A small witch with blonde hair stood clinging to the taller woman in the entryway, her little face twisted in concerned consternation at her redheaded counterpart. Shōyō turned to look at her over his shoulder and gestured at Noya with both hands. 

“But Yachi, we’re going _trick-or-treating!_ ” he insisted as justification for his volume and she half-groaned, half-hummed in response, lips hiking into an exaggerated frown. 

“Hi Yachi,” Noya interrupted, stepping forward past the boy beside him. The little witch curled into herself when he came closer, watching with big, brown eyes as he crouched down to her level. “I’m Noya. It’s really nice to meet you.” 

Asahi had never spent much time around kids. His older sister didn’t have any - at least not yet - and he hadn’t ever sought out other opportunities. Despite his own inexperience, his anxiety melted away watching Noya interact. He was a natural. 

The woman in the doorway was introduced as Tsukishima-san, mother of one of the boys on the team. Hitoka was one of the boys’ friends from school, she explained, and an unexpected addition to the group. ‘The group’ revealed itself a little at a time, filtering in from down the hall behind the weary-looking Tsukishima-san, and when they had arrived, Noya adopted a more authoritative demeanor. 

“Alright, let’s get lined up here - I gotta introduce you guys! Asahi, this is Shōyō,” he gestured to the redhead who, upon noticing the much taller man, had tucked himself slightly behind the boy beside him. “And that’s Tobio.” Where Shōyō’s costume was adorable and cartoonish (a puff of metallic fabric that swallowed up his torso, shimmery pearlescent and decorated by a pink swirl; two crinkly cellophane cones on either side of him completed the illusion of a giant piece of candy), Tobio’s was a little more… sophisticated. He wore a full soccer uniform, deep royal blue and navy with matching knee socks, the right breast bearing a number seven in crisp white. 

“Tobio, you wanna tell Asahi-san who you’re dressed as?” 

The boy turned his attention away from the friend tucked behind him to the tall newcomer, blue eyes appraising. His black hair was pushed out of his face with a thin headband; it made his chubby cheeks stand out even more. He furrowed his lips in thought, momentarily assessing whether or not he should share. 

“Endo... Yasuhito,” he finally declared and held his chin just the littlest bit higher.

“That’s a famous midfielder,” Noya supplied in a whisper, leaning closer as though that would help make it at all subtle. “And this is Tada-- Tadashi, c’mon, don’t be shy! Asahi-san is really nice, I promise.” 

Tadashi was a small boy with brown hair and freckles, twisting in his felt pumpkin costume. He was stuck to the side of Tsukishima Kei, a boy who was a head taller and nearly at Noya’s height - the _problem child -_ who observed both adults warily over the rims of his glasses, his honeysuckle eyes searching for weaknesses. 

“You have leaves in your hair,” he pointed out, matter-of-fact, and raised a pale eyebrow in silent question at Asahi: _why?_

“You’re dressed like a dinosaur,” Asahi offered in return. Kei’s face scrunched up behind his glasses. 

“Yeah, because it’s Halloween.” 

Asahi shrugged, fingers still in his jeans’ pockets: _that’s why._

Noya hid a laugh behind his hand. 

\----

Trick-or-treating had never been Asahi’s _thing_ growing up. Ever since he could remember, he had preferred making sweets as opposed to eating them - which he supposed was fortunate. True to what Nishinoya had said, about half the kids seemed to like him. Hitoka and Tadashi decided to stick with him, the three of them a lot more quiet than the boisterous group ahead of them. Hitoka had seemed scared of Asahi at first, hiding behind Tsukishima-san until she had been ushered out onto the front steps. Once he had crouched down and smiled and let her touch one of the leaves dangling around his head, she had finally lifted her chin off her chest and managed a little smile; his heart had promptly melted into a puddle. 

Tadashi didn’t seem scared of him beyond what Asahi would expect of a seven-year-old meeting an adult, but he did seem more nervous overall than his friends. When Kei had walked boldly forward into the stream on the sidewalk, the more timid boy with freckles had hung back, watching kids filter by with unsteadiness in his gaze. Asahi had recognized that look, so he offered out a hand: _let’s go together._ Tadashi had taken it. 

And so it was that the mountain of a man trailed behind Noya and his three eager companions, watching him talk and gesture animatedly. Tobio and Kei were nearly his height already, though the blonde had a leg up on his competition; he hung a step back from the other two, who stuck diligently to Nishinoya’s sides. Shōyō’s puffed-up candy wrapper costume and Yū’s koala kigurumi made quite a pair, especially with a teal dinosaur trailing after them. 

True to his claim, Noya made the trek up to every single door. He held out a pillow case and flashed that beaming smile and called _‘trick-or-treat!’_ with his young charges - some of them louder about it than others - and received just as much candy for his effort. The face paint probably helped disguise his age and Asahi caught several mothers asking whose big brother he was. Shōyō latched onto the opportunity immediately, unaware that using a guy’s full last name to refer to him limited the possibility of them being related. 

Asahi had never spent a lot of time around kids and he wasn’t certain he was ready to start, not in any regular capacity, but watching Nishinoya with kids? That, he could stand to do more often. There was something about it that mystified him, made him almost forget that he was wearing a silly hat and walking amongst droves of strange children and even holding two little hands in his big mitts. The energy that always seemed to outshine everyone around Noya was tempered and absorbed by the beings hanging onto his every word, a pair of brown eyes and a pair of blue and even a reluctant third in honeysuckle gold watched him gesture widely with his burdened hands and hop when he got excited. 

Nishinoya Yū was impossible not to look at - especially then, when he marched with exaggerated swings of his arms and laughed out loud at Shōyō copying him, when he consoled a pouting Tobio with a hand between his shoulder blades after someone guessed he was dressed as David Beckham for the fourth time. 

Maybe the difference was in the company. Around adults, there was always disapproval at increased volumes or boisterous behavior, but around kids? _These_ kids? There was no need for Noya to bridle himself. Walking down the sidewalk in the early fall evening, wearing a koala onesie with a smaller hand in each of his, he was free to be exactly who he was: larger than life and so, so loved for it. 

The realization hit him when he felt the fondness press hard into his warming cheeks: Asahi was falling hard for Nishinoya. 

He was terrified, but also not at all. 

Not when that smile was out, making the flowers in his chest bloom. 

After about an hour, kids started drooping. Hitoka wilted first, her hand going heavy in his grasp as she dragged herself along, and Asahi hung back with her and Tadashi while Shōyō and Tobio raced between houses. He hesitated before crouching down and gestured for her to climb up on his back.

“Is it okay?” she asked after a moment and he shrugged. 

“S’okay with me if it’s okay with you.” 

Hitoka considered her options, weighed the candy in the plastic pumpkin she was holding and ultimately decided that it would be for the best to hitch a ride. It was a bit awkward, figuring out how to give a piggy-back-ride on the fly when he hadn’t done so in a while (not since the last time he and Suga had gone out and the silver-haired menace had gotten a little too drunk), but he managed it. She weighed next to nothing; it was easy enough to keep her supported with her arms around his shoulders and one of his hands hooked under her knee. Tadashi held his other, the three of them looking not unlike a slightly-mismatched family as they trudged along after the rest of their party. 

Asahi glanced up and found a pair of copper eyes on him. Noya had paused at the end of a walkway to a house, Kei and Shōyō and Tobio gone ahead to collect their spoils, and was just sort of… watching them, Asahi and his two buddies. His expression was... different. It had gone soft in a way that Asahi hadn’t expected, smile more warm than radiant and gaze half-lidded beneath his eared hood. Even from behind the face paint, the affection was clear as day - even to Asahi, who excelled at dismissing any positive emotion thrown his direction.

Both of them snapped to attention when Shōyō almost bowled Noya over again, startling a laugh out of his very awkward guardians. 

\----

When Hitoka started snoring quietly against Asahi’s shoulder, Yū made the executive decision that it was time to head back. It hadn’t even been an hour and a half, a fact that Shōyō pointed out loudly and repeatedly, but he was placated by the promise of bonus candy - courtesy of Noya’s ill-gotten goods. They made their way back to the Tsukishima household and ended up sat on the tatami of their living room floor, a mountain of candy being sorted, divvied up, traded, and - inevitably - eaten. 

Shōyō and Tobio haggled for caramel; Kei traded his peanut butter cups to Tadashi for fruit chews. Hitoka spent a long time organizing her candy into rows by color and didn’t seem to have any preference; she would happily trade with anyone for most anything as long as she had at least one more left over to maintain her gradient. None of the boys abused this willingness to trade, which was a warming phenomenon to witness, and always insisted on being fair when she offered to give candy away for free. 

“Shōyō, I can’t make Kei trade with you if he doesn’t want to.”

“But Noya-san you’re our _coach,”_ the miniature sunspot protested, tugging at said coach’s elbow. 

“That doesn’t mean I have that kind of power, kiddo.” Nishinoya grinned as he glanced between a desperate Shōyō, a very smug-looking blonde, and Asahi, who was watching Hitoka organize her haul. His own pillowcase had been dumped out in the middle of the mess and he was flicking through it, looking for a specific flavor. 

“But _Noya-saaan,"_ Shōyō pleaded and got a ruffling of his hair in response, playfully dismissive. 

“Listen, if you really want his candy, you’re just gonna have to sweeten the pot.” Very diplomatic, though Asahi wondered if Yū was just trying to stay on Kei’s good side. “Gimme a sec, okay?”

Asahi looked up and watched Noya stand to retrieve a now-familiar snap-top cellphone bag from inside his sweatshirt, which had been draped across the back of a chair. Ah, right - candy. He decided this time he would give his boyfriend some privacy and went back to asking Hitoka about her favorite colors. Above the chatter and the sound of crinkling wrappers, he could hear the faint but distinct _click click click_ of an insulin pen being set and tried not to focus on it too hard.  
“Kage-- _hey!”_ Came a loud protest from Shōyō, who was moving before Asahi could address the situation.”Noya-san, Kageyama ate one of my caramels! He has to give me one of his back, right?!” 

Noya faltered for a moment. Asahi caught the edge of the glance even though the grey-clad figure of his partner was facing away from him, saw him look to Shōyō and then back down. 

“Yeah, I-- hang on, Sho--” 

“But _Noya--”_

“Okay, okay, I’m comin’.” 

_Pop. Snap. Click click click click click. Snap._

“Alright, okay, who did what now? Tobio, did you eat one of Shōyō’s?” Noya stuffed the bag into his sweatshirt as he jogged back over, sunspot right on his heel. 

“ _No,_ Hinata just got confused because he’s a _mess._ ” 

“Kageyama!” 

“Shōyō, just take one of mine. C’mon, there’s plenty. Show me what else you got, okay? What’s your favorite?” 

Asahi watched the smile come back and the color in Noya’s cheeks fade as they took their seats again, but his own thoughts were far away. He was remembering the night at the izakaya, the way Noya’s usually bright expression fell when the question had been asked, then the answer he had given. _It’s not like that._ Noya must not have wanted the kids to know, to see him like that - probably didn’t want anyone to see him like that. 

How many times had he been misunderstood? How many times had he been forced into that same conversation?

The two made eye contact across the chaos, sitting on opposite sides of the mound of candy, and Asahi’s lips pulled up into a small and gently lopsided smile. _It’s okay,_ he thought and then, _I’m sorry_. 

Noya’s mouth shrugged upward in acknowledgement, soft and genuine, and then they both returned to their respective children. 

\----

“Really, Nishinoya-san, I can’t thank you enough,” Mrs. Tsukishima was bidding them goodbye at the door. Tadashi and Hitoka were slumped against the couch, dozing while Tobio and Shōyō wrestled for the last of the nougat. Kei was watching them as he would a drama on tv, casually snacking on a packet of gummies. 

“Happy to help, Tsukishima-san.” Noya was beaming, eyes bright even with the way they were drooping from exhaustion. It had been a _long_ day. “I hope Akiteru is havin’ a good time at school.” 

“We’re _very_ proud of him,” she responded, her expression fond and soft. 

“Well tell ‘im I said hey, and thanks for giving me an excuse to trick-or-treat again.” Yū grinned and Mrs. Tsukishima bowed to them both, smiling and waving her thanks while they walked away. 

Quiet finally settled over them as they moved back down the front walkway. Noya had retrieved his backpack and skates, slung over his shoulders, and his hood had finally given up and collapsed around his neck. Asahi shuffled along beside him, both of them passively enjoying the now-distant calls and laughter of neighborhood kids on their way home. It wasn’t until they started down the sidewalk that a small hand reached over to wrap around a much larger one, weaving their fingers together. 

“You wanna come over?” Noya asked, quiet and hopeful, and Asahi smiled. “We can watch a horror mov--”

“ _Halloween_ movie!” Asahi squawked and tried to be annoyed, but the cackle that erupted out of his companion only made fondness bloom in his chest. 

Nishinoya’s apartment was a second-floor walkup, small but big enough for two, the living spaces all floored with tatami. The walls were white and heavily scuffed from any number of sporting equipment collisions, decorated in places with framed action movie or video game posters. While his bike had been left at the gym, his skateboard sat propped against the wall in the entryway right alongside an unkempt pile of sneakers and cleats. 

Yū called a greeting when they entered and started taking off their shoes, but only silence echoed back at them. 

“Eh, it’s only like, eight. Ryū’s probably at his girlfriend’s,” Noya explained. He took Asahi’s hand once they were both in sock feet and led him to the living room, separated from the kitchen area by a shoji door. “You thirsty? We have, like-- beer, and water and tea, and maybe soda? I can check.” 

“Oh, uh-- no, I’m okay,” Asahi replied. The hesitation in his voice gave Nishinoya pause. It prickled at the back of his neck, a sixth sense that something was _off,_ and he peeked over at his companion to take stock of his condition. Asahi’s shoulders were tight and so were his lips, his eyes flicking here and there to observe the decor and when they met Noya’s, they flitted away immediately. 

“Hey,” Noya stopped to stand in front of him, still with the facepaint and the kigurumi and looking cute enough to be a pastry himself except for the serious expression he was wearing. “Don’t get lost on me, okay? We’re just gonna watch a movie, it’s--” He released his grip so that it could shift, both hands reaching up to cup either side of Asahi’s face instead. It had the intended effect, forcing the taller man to focus. 

“It’s just a movie. There’s nothing to be nervous about, okay?” 

Something… _complicated_ happened to Asahi’s face. His eyes went big as he stared down at Noya, then shrank when his attention fell to the floor. He worried at his lower lip with his teeth and his host thought maybe he’d said something wrong right up until a teeny, tiny smile pulled at his mouth. One of Asahi’s eyes squinted while the other looked up, playful bashfulness spelled out in the blush on his cheeks and the curl of his lips. 

“ _Nothing_ to be nervous about?” he asked and tried (but failed) to stifle a smirk. 

Noya felt the blood rush to his face and then much, much lower. He glanced away and grinned, hiding his embarrassment as best he could and hoping the face paint would conceal the rest. It would have been a lie to say that the thought hadn’t at least crossed his mind - Asahi in his apartment, Ryū out, neither of them needing to go to work the next day. 

“Then, I guess…” he trailed off. His mouth was fighting with the amusement he was wearing, lips twisting up at the edges like he was trying to keep from laughing, though it felt more like he was trying to keep the butterflies in his stomach from flying out of his mouth. “...if that’s what happens, we can be nervous together.” 

There was some debate over movies. Tanaka and Nishinoya had amassed quite a collection in their time living together. Most of them were action flicks and superhero movies, but there were a surprising number of romantic comedies in the ranks. Noya insisted that they were his roommate’s, but had no shame in pointing out his favorites. The SAW movies were pulled out and Asahi nearly had a panic attack, but the giggle Yū let slip when he put them back was worth it. 

In the end, they decided on Corpse Bride. Nishinoya felt like it was creepy enough to count as Halloween without sending his guest into a spiral of dread - and even though it wasn’t always his first choice, he was a fan of animation. He slid the DVD into its drive and turned around, remote in hand, to find Asahi tucked into the corner of his couch, trying to make himself smaller. Something in his chest squeezed hard and he smiled as he shuffled back over to make himself at home beside his partner. 

It had been a while for both of them, apparently. Noya fought the heat threatening to bloom in his cheeks and seated himself on the couch, hip-to-hip with Asahi, who seemed immediately unsure of where to put his arms. Nishinoya took his hand and carefully guided one over his shoulder until he could lean into that warm, broad chest, ignoring the thrill that rushed through him when their sides were flush against each other. It took a few seconds to find the right position: Yū with his weight against Asahi, a comforting arm hooked over his shoulders, their fingers woven together in his lap. 

“You comfy?” he asked, cheerful but quiet as the entry credits rolled onscreen. He couldn’t see it happen, but he felt lips press against the crown of his head, warm breath tickling through his hair. 

“Yeah,” came the muffled reply and Noya smiled, heart beating hard in his chest. 

\----

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Asahi drifted off before ten o’clock, anchored in place by the weight of Noya’s slow breathing against his chest. 

Two hours later, he jolted awake in an apartment that was not his, his right side way, way warmer than the rest of him and his clothes slightly damp. This was concerning for a number of reasons but the ones he zeroed in on was the temperature fluctuation and that what _had_ been the comforting weight of Nishinoya asleep against him was suddenly a trembling bundle of heat. 

“Noya,” he rasped, voice clogged with sleep. “Nishinoya, are you-- what’s--” His big hand reached up to shake a grey-clad shoulder and immediately, the koala against him bolted upright, eyes flying wide and lungs inflating with a sharp breath. 

“N-- Noya, where are you--” 

Yū wasn’t listening. He rolled off the couch and stumbled, groping around in the blue light cast by the television to find the arm of the sofa. His movements were jerky and panicked. His eyes were unfocused. 

Something was wrong. 

Asahi hauled himself to his feet and hurried after him. “Noya, what-- are you okay? What’s--” His heartbeat thudded in his ears, nerves frayed. There was something familiar about this but also not; the shaking and sweating he remembered, but the panic evident in Yū’s every movement was new and terrifying. 

Noya staggered into the kitchen and ripped open the fridge, fumbling for something inside. Asahi stood helplessly behind him, desperate to do something but lost trying to think of _what_. 

“Noya what-- what do I--” 

Nishinoya dropped a bottle of grape juice on the counter and rose on his tiptoes to reach for the cupboards. His face paint was streaked. Some of it was undoubtedly leftover on Asahi’s shirt because a window had been made to his unnaturally pale skin, dewy with perspiration. A glance at his expression had Asahi’s heart in his throat, panic ratcheted up to a previously unknown level. 

“What can I--”

“ _Move.”_ It was an order, gravelly and forceful but not loud, that came from behind him. Asahi obeyed immediately and stepped to one side so a man could brush past him. The two of them hadn’t met, but the close-cropped dark hair and stocky frame matched the description he had been provided of Tanaka Ryūnosuke. He must have been sleeping, or close to it: he wore a loose-fitting tank top and striped boxers, neither of which did a good job of hiding the cords of muscles built into his arms and legs. Asahi didn’t have the wherewithal to register how intimidating he was; there were more important things on his mind. 

“Noya, lemme do it,” Tanaka insisted, gently guiding his roommate out of the way of the cupboard he was struggling to reach. 

“M’ _fine--_ ”

“Yer not _fine.”_

“I can do it!” Nishinoya snapped, an event that warranted the surprise in Asahi’s expression.

“Yeah, you can,” Tanaka agreed, his voice softening and grip going more forceful as he pressed Noya backwards. “But you don’t gotta.” 

Noya deflated. His face twisted into something foreign and unhappy, his lips forced down at the edges and his eyes on the floor, brows drawn - but he stepped out of the way, resigned. He stood quietly with a hand on the juice bottle and waited for Tanaka to take it from him. A glass was filled and a straw was dropped in before it was handed over. Nishinoya mumbled a soft ‘thank you’ while he took it, brought the straw to his lips and drank. 

_Chugged_ was maybe the better word. One second the glass was full and the next, it was empty. 

“Where’s your kit?” Tanaka asked. 

“Kit?” Asahi interjected. He was wringing his hands uncomfortably, glancing between the other two men. 

Ryū seemed to actually notice him for the first time. His grey eyes lifted to take in the sight of the taller man: bearded, soft, no longer with leaves in his hair. Dressed like a dad from the 70s. About as non-threatening as he could get. 

“The bag with his meter in it. He keeps it in his sweatshirt.”

“I’m _right here,”_ Noya grumbled. He was fumbling with the bottle of juice again. 

“Yeah, then where’s your sweatshirt?” Tanaka asked, obliging with a healthy measure of sass, and helped hold the juice steady while a second glass got poured. 

“Living room.” 

“I got it,” Asahi piped and turned on his heels to hurry to where the bright red garment had been flung over the back of the couch. The snap-top pouch he had seen several times was stitched into the inside of the soft fabric so he brought the whole thing, offering it out bag-first when he returned to the kitchen. 

Noya seemed… better. Still shaking, but not so sickly pale. He wouldn’t quite look Asahi in the eyes, just reached out and dumped the things from the bag into his hand. A small device that looked like a tamagotchi’s older brother tumbled out, bigger and made of dark navy plastic, followed by a vial and a plastic wand, then the insulin pen he had seen before. A few alcohol swabs were dug out and one got torn into and hastily scrubbed against a trembling finger. The vial was popped open, a thin strip of plastic retrieved and inserted into the tamagotchi, which beeped and lit up in response. 

Asahi had read about it, what it meant to check your blood sugar. He hadn’t watched the videos provided by the web search because honestly, he was a little bit squeamish. It might have prepared him for what came next, sights that accompanied sounds that had become familiar to him: the tear of foil-lined paper, the hard _ka-chunk_ of the lancet jabbing Noya’s finger. The drop of blood that welled up, glaring crimson. Noya struggled getting the strip to line up with the droplet and when the machine beeped at him a few times in quick succession, he growled. It was dangerously close to a whine, frustration leaking out of him in waves. 

“Here, I got it,” Tanaka murmured. The quietness of it was almost startling when compared to what Asahi knew of him. Noya didn’t seem thrilled by the idea but he let it happen, held out his hand and allowed the meter to be taken from him, the plastic vial, the lancing pen. Rugged fingers repeated the process, steadier than Yū’s, and the familiar _beep beep_ signaling a successful test made Asahi’s shoulders relax. 

46\. He didn’t know a lot, but he knew that wasn’t right. Asahi watched Noya watching the number, his brows drawn and his mouth tight. 

“Close call,” Tanaka announced. No one said anything in response. 

For a long, uncomfortable moment, there was silence. Asahi and Tanaka both watched Noya and then tried _not_ to watch Noya, who was sipping a second glass of juice more slowly than the first. It was tense and awkward - at least for Asahi. Ryū just looked _serious._

“Should I--” Asahi started when Noya began setting up a second test with his meter. 

“You should know how to do it,” Tanaka pointed out flatly. 

Yū sent him a sharp look. 

Ryū didn’t seem to care. “He should,” he asserted more firmly. 

Asahi got a glance from both of them. Nishinoya’s was almost apologetic while Tanaka’s was… hard. _Determined._

Asahi cleared his throat and nodded, then watched the tamagotchi get tended to via a second test. Insert strip, scrub finger, prick, droplet, wait for reading. 65. 

“Better,” Noya mumbled, uncharacteristically quiet. Tanaka relaxed his arms from where he had crossed them over his chest and set his hands on his hips instead. 

“Alright, good.” 

Another awkward moment. Asahi felt like he should say something but the silence was loaded, full of a hundred unsaid things that he couldn’t choose between. Ryū interrupted it by clearing his own throat. 

“This is a weird way to meet the first time, but hi, I’m Tanaka.” 

“As-- Asahi,” he managed haltingly in response and shook the hand that was offered out to him, its grip almost crushing. 

“I’ll get outta your hair for now but let’s hang out for real next time.” 

The smile was a surprise. It was warm and open; when Tanaka’s facial muscles relaxed, his slate eyes were less sharp, more inviting. Asahi swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. 

Before he left, Tanaka reached out and put a hand on Noya’s shoulder. His grip grew increasingly firm until copper eyes lifted to meet his. 

“We can talk tomorrow,” he said, but it sounded like a question even before he added the last bit. “Yeah?” 

The look on Noya’s face made Asahi have to glance away. He didn’t know if it was an apology or a warning or a request but whatever it was, it was something he didn’t feel like he was meant to see. 

“Yeah,” Nishinoya replied, though his voice was a little hollow. Tanaka’s hand shifted, released, then swung back to offer a familiar clap on the shoulder. And then he was gone.

The silence leftover after his bedroom door clicked shut expanded to fill the small kitchen. It washed over the blue tiled walls and the grey linoleum floor, down the white enamel fridge and around the drain in the stainless steel sink. Noya and Asahi were surrounded by it, enveloped, and Asahi was… lost. 

What was he supposed to say? 

\----

What was he supposed to say? 

Nishinoya hadn’t ever been great with words, they weren’t his specialty. He didn’t know how to describe the unique panic that came with waking up like that, thrust into consciousness and already pitching over the side of a cliff, falling, falling, falling towards the ground far below. He couldn’t relay to another person what it was like, how it felt when his body malfunctioned, when his brain went swimming in a warm water bath of fear that turned icy and cold in his veins. How was he supposed to explain the abject terror that came along with that? 

He thought back to the living room of the Tsukishima household, to the injection he’d given himself in a rush. Fucking stupid. He shouldn’t have been eating candy in the first place, much less letting himself get so distracted that he didn’t eat _enough_ of it. How big of an idiot did he have to be to--

“Hey,” a gentle voice cut through the fog, urging him towards the surface. Yū still couldn’t look up. He pressed his lips harder together, shrinking in stubborn thought. 

“ _Hey,”_ Asahi tried again, still soft but with heavier emphasis. A broad hand found Noya’s jaw, guided his face up from where he was glaring holes in the floor, and the moment his copper eyes made contact with that gentle, brown gaze, his expression softened. “Are you okay?” 

It was a loaded question. Both of them knew it, judging by the looks they had on their faces. Asahi was concerned. Noya didn’t blame him, but that didn’t mean he had the words to talk about it. 

“Yeah,” he lied - half-lied. He _was_ okay, physically. The rest he tried to cover up with a laugh, but it came out half-hearted and flat. 

Asahi didn’t look away. His thumb swiped over Noya’s cheek, prompted him to glance up from where his attention had fallen to the linoleum again. For another long, quiet moment, they just looked at each other, rubbed raw in their own ways. 

Eventually, Yū reached up to press his palm to the back of Asahi’s knuckles, holding his hand still so he could tuck his face against it more securely. Neither of them mentioned the smearing face paint. 

“Feels like you keep seein’ me at my worst,” he murmured, more fragile than he wanted to be, and felt his skin heat. He was torn open, betrayed by his own traitorous body. The quiet that followed his confession grated against his nerves. He wanted to snap or scream or _run,_ wanted to do something physical to clear out the mucky cobwebs clinging to his brain, even though he knew that that would only come with distance from his low sugar.

“I get to see you at your best, too,” Asahi countered, his voice as gentle as the rest of him. “Like today, with the kids.” 

Noya’s expression went liquid, soft and wobbly. 

“They’re good kids,” he offered and when Asahi smiled, he felt warmth wash over him in waves. That smile made him feel stripped in a way that didn’t burn, didn’t make him want to hide himself away. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, being torn open for someone once in a while - though it would have been a lie to say he didn’t want it to stop happening so _often_. 

“They liked you,” he continued, his brain clinging to the shift in topic. Anything to avoid talking about what had just happened - not that he ever needed an excuse to talk about his kids. “Shōyō especially. He asked if you would come to practice with me.” 

Even with the tired eyes, the warm smile stretching across his face made Noya look so much more like himself. 

“Yeah?” Asahi asked, amusement touching his own features. “Does he know I don’t play, like, _any_ sports?”

“I will bet you a thousand yen that he tells you that’s a waste,” Yū countered, smile turning into a grin, and his companion returned it. 

“Deal,” he agreed readily. Asahi would do most anything if it meant bringing light back into the face he had grown so fond of. 

Noya had to test himself twice more and eat a handful of crackers over the next ten or so minutes to make sure the trajectory of his numbers was still on an upswing. By then his sweat had cooled and it, along with the facepaint still half-fixed to his cheeks, was starting to itch. A shower sounded good, but the idea of Asahi being gone when he got out decidedly _did not._

“Hey, um,” he started, hesitant, as he tucked his various plastic objects back into the bag they called home. “I’m gonna… grab a shower, I think, but would you--” 

His voice trailed off, caught in his throat. Too much vulnerability in one day; it was catching up to him.

“Can I stay?” a characteristically soft voice cut through his doubts, drawing his attention up to an almost eager look on Asahi’s face. “Not-- I mean, it doesn’t have to be overnight, or anything, I just”--he dropped his eyes to the floor, worried at his lower lip with his teeth--”I wanna make sure you’re okay. I hope that’s not--” His panic was evident in his pinched brows when he glanced back up. 

Noya felt his heart squeeze. “You’re sweet,” he mused, almost dazed, and then caught himself and looked away in a futile attempt to hide the flush in his cheeks. “That’s-- that would be--” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yes, I’d like that.” The smile he sprouted was small but solid, eyes sleepy but clear. 

He led Asahi down the hall to his room, introducing the space with a sweeping hand gesture. The floor was familiar tatami, worn but clean, the walls a medium grey and decorated with a smattering of posters: One Punch Man, Dragonball Z, Black Widow. There was a series of prints designed to look like travel posters for destinations in an old Zelda game. Asahi smirked at a bleach blonde idol hanging above the desk against the far wall, the one that was surprisingly organized. Its top primarily housed a stack of manga, but there was also a trio of books heavily marked with sticky page tabs, each a different manual for sports coaching and soccer. 

“You can wait in here if you want,” Noya offered and moved over to his dresser, rooting around for something in his pajama drawer, and offered a grin when he found it. “I got this week’s Jump, if you wanna read it.” 

Asahi grinned back and they exchanged a fleeting kiss before Yū padded back down the hall to head for the shower. From under the warm, steady stream, he considered his binder, which hung from a hook by the door. 

After a day of vulnerable moments… what was one more? 

\----

Not for the first time that day, Asahi sat and listened to the sound of a shower running. This time it was down the hall as opposed to right on the other side of the wall, _but still._ Though he was perfectly content in his seat - the desk chair - his mind was having trouble staying still. It filtered through a dizzying spread of images: copper eyes lit up with laughter, a beaming smile, a comical march with swinging arms, a pale face, a startled gaze, trembling shoulders. 

And then that softness, the open, almost-sad expression Yū had worn in the dim light of his kitchen. Nishinoya was always beautiful, but in that moment there had been something _haunting_ about him. Asahi’s fingers itched for his sketchbook, for the opportunity to copy down that image before it left him, as ethereal as the moment itself. He closed his eyes and traced the lines in his head - the cut of Noya’s jaw, the arches of his brows, the curves of his cheeks. If only he had managed to get a picture. 

“Asahi?” 

He snapped up from where he had leaned back in the chair, caught a glimpse of Noya in the doorway, and nearly fell over. A loose t-shirt and pajama shorts shouldn’t have had that effect on him, probably, but it was the person _in them_ that had his heart racing. He’d never seen Yū in that little clothing and that was probably a good thing if doing so meant that his brain ceased functioning to this extent. 

“I-- yeah?” he croaked, not managing to suppress his wince even a little bit at the crack in his voice. A smirk broke across his companion’s face as he shuffled closer, still toweling off his damp hair with the terry cloth draped over his shoulders. 

“What were you thinkin’ about?” He asked, both curious and amused. 

Asahi should have been thinking of an answer that wasn’t incriminating, but all he could keep in his head was the image in front of him: Noya, dewy and pink, soft and sleepy and domestic in the wake of everything. 

“You,” he murmured. His mortification was short-lived because an instant later, there was blush in Yū’s cheeks, his smirk turned into a wide smile and his eyes on the floor. 

“That’s what you look like when you think about me?” he asked.

“How… did I look?” Asahi blinked himself out of his stare and sat slightly forward, concern creeping into his tone. “Was it-- was I making a face?” 

A snort of a laugh pushed past Noya’s lips as he came to stand just a step and a half in front of his guest. His eyes had gone half-lidded as they began mapping the contours of Asahi’s face.

“Yeah,” he mused, letting go of his towel in favor of reaching a hand out towards the larger man. “You were spaced out pretty hard.” 

Asahi felt his own eyelids starting to droop when a thumb brushed over the hard line of his jaw, then up over the curve of his cheek. 

“It was a nice face.” 

“Yeah?” His voice came out much, much softer than he’d meant it to. 

“Yeah,” Noya replied, just as soft, and shifted forward. He fit perfectly between Asahi’s knees, a fact that had heat pooling below both their stomachs. 

“What was nice about it?” 

Maybe it was self-indulgent, but he wanted to know. He wanted to know what Noya saw in him. He wanted to know how he had earned the look he was getting, that sleepy, sultry smile under focused, heavy eyes. 

“You looked like…” Noya trailed off, thoughtful, and cupped his face in his palm. The rasp of stubble against soft skin was just barely audible. “You remember when you told me about that cake you made your friends?” His smile hiked up a little higher when he asked, then a little more when Asahi tilted his head quizzically to one side. 

“The… one with the filigree?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I remember.” 

It had been a labor of love, that cake. Three tiers of Victoria sponge done in Tiffany blue frosting with white scrollwork piped on by hand, pearlescent lustre added with a fan brush after it had dried. The icing and sugar paste flowers had taken days, roses and lilies in white and shades of pink. It was one of the few pieces he could say he was well and truly _proud of,_ enough that he had put it on Instagram after the engagement party, but it wasn’t just because of the cake. It was the looks on his friends’ faces when they saw it for the first time, the way they had lit up in awe and disbelief.

“You looked kind of the same just now as when you told me that story,” Nishinoya murmured. The pads of his fingers traced the arch of Asahi’s cheek, trailed up along the side of his face towards his temple and hovered at the edge of his brow. “Like… you were thinking about something…” 

_Something that matters to me,_ Asahi thought. _Something precious._ His damn voice caught in his throat before he could get it out. He swallowed hard and lifted his hand, setting it gingerly against Noya’s waist. The shirt collapsed beneath it and he was given a vivid reminder of how _small_ he was, not just lean and wiry but also slender _._ Asahi might have called him _delicate_ if he hadn’t known any better. His fingers probably could have touched if he tried to wrap both hands around that waist. 

“Like you were thinking of something beautiful,” Yū’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

Asahi felt the smile pressing into his cheeks, slow and warm and soft, and looked up into those half-lidded copper eyes with every ounce of affection he had in him - which was, notably, a fucking lot. 

“I was,” he murmured and didn’t try to hide his joy when his date turned a deep and luxurious shade of pink. 

"Cheese ball," Noya grumbled, distinctly lacking in bite. 

A grin stretched wide across Asahi's face, a rare look of unbridled amusement that only faded when it was smothered by Yū’s mouth.

The first kiss was soft, but it lingered; the second one was warm and growing warmer. Nishinoya’s touch was explorative, one palm sliding along Asahi’s jaw until his careful fingers could card through soft hair. His other hand trailed down his lover’s neck, over his fluttering pulse and further, until he could feel along the collar of his brown shirt. 

Asahi tilted his head, encouraged the hand in his hair while his own strayed along the curve of Noya’s waist, up over his ribs. His skin was so _warm,_ even through the fabric of the shirt. He smelled like bright citrus and something sweet, like limes and brown sugar. Asahi didn’t have time to be alarmed at the thought ‘ _I want to know what you taste like’_ when it flitted through his mind because frankly, he had more important things to worry about - namely, continuing to breathe when Noya pressed forward. 

“Is this okay?” he whispered and Asahi could only nod because Nishinoya was _climbing into his lap_. Yū’s muscles strained until he could rest his weight across his partner’s thighs, keeping just barely enough space to leave a torturous gap between the heat of his sex and the growing stiffness trapped behind Asahi’s fly. Those few centimeters felt like an impossible distance; the urge to push forward was almost unbearable for both of them. Their mouths met instead. Noya leaned his weight assuredly into his partner’s strong shoulders when their lips slotted together, parted, fluttered with a gasp when a soft, warm tongue felt tentatively along damp skin.

Asahi’s free hand twitched where it rested at his side, his knuckles ghosting against toned, bare flesh. He wanted - so, _so much_ \- to feel the strain of those thighs under his touch. His grasp on Nishinoya’s side grew firmer with the effort of holding back. How much was too much? How forward was too forward? Probably a silly question when his partner - lover? - was literally _in his lap,_ but he was in uncharted territory and-- 

And then Nishinoya _moaned_ into their kiss and Asahi’s brain burst into flames. A strangled noise left his throat and his eyes rolled back behind his glasses. The restraint holding him in place finally snapped and he reached forward, pushing his palm along the side of Noya’s thigh. The pleased hum he got in response was the permission he needed to wrap his long fingers around the tensed muscles in his grasp, appreciating the strength that simmered under the surface. 

\----

“Is this okay?” Noya asked between kisses and dragged his hands over Asahi’s chest, felt the give of soft flesh padding the hard plane of his sternum. Asahi huffed out a _yes_ and asked the same when he pawed up along Noya’s thigh. His other hand stayed fixed in place, hesitant about moving any higher. The thoughtfulness wasn’t unexpected, but it did serve to firm up Nishinoya’s resolve. 

“Asahi,” he drew back just enough to lean their foreheads together and catch his breath. He ran a hand along Asahi’s forearm until he could palm over the back of his knuckles, encouraging the touch at his waist. “What do you want, right now?” 

The confusion immediately became evident on Asahi’s face. His thick brows furrowed and his parted lips moved wordlessly, half-pursed. The skew of his glasses and the deep flush in his cheeks only served to make the expression more endearing. Noya had to resist the urge to kiss him again before hearing the answer to his question. 

“I-- Whatever you--”

“ _No,_ stop,” Yū interrupted and cupped either of Asahi’s cheeks between his hands. The stare he leveled in his partner’s direction was intense, searching and hungry and unwavering. “I already know what _I_ want. I’m asking what _you_ want.” 

Asahi paused. His breathing had been coming out in hot, shallow puffs but it slowed in the quiet. He shifted almost imperceptibly, like he was taking stock of himself: a twitch of his thumb over Nishinoya’s ribs, the barest lift of his hips that made his eyebrow flex. He swallowed. His eyelids drooped as he traced Yū’s lips and though he wasn’t privy to what was going on in the gentle giant’s head, Noya felt like whatever words came out of that beautiful mouth were going to be some of the most carefully considered he had ever received. 

“I want-- to _see_ you,” Asahi murmured. “To see… To see and touch and”--he glanced down, blush shifting from pink to a delicious magenta--”and _taste_ as… as much of you as you’ll let me.” 

It was, admittedly, more direct than Nishinoya had expected on a second try. His stomach went on a private rollercoaster ride and he had to take a deep and trembling breath before he could make his vocal cords work.

“Guess I lucked out,” he murmured and ghosted his thumb along the crest of Asahi’s cheek. “‘Cause I’d really like to show you.” 

Asahi let slip a breathy little laugh and his partner returned it, both of them flushed and embarrassed and uncomfortable in the best way. Noya was the first to speak again. He slipped his hand down over Asahi’s neck as he did, just barely grazing him with the ball of his palm and the pads of his fingers. 

“And if I… wanted the same thing from you?” he asked, throat suddenly dry. His thumb brushed along the underside of Asahi’s jaw. “If I wanted to see and touch and… and _taste,”_ a joke (but not really) marked by an open-mouthed smile between clauses. “Would that be okay with you?” 

Asahi nodded hurriedly; Nishinoya couldn’t help a grin pressing lopsidedly into his cheeks, but he inclined his head downward and shot the bigger man a prompting glance. 

“Yes,” Asahi croaked, his broad palms coming to rest on either side of Yū’s waist. “Very… _very_ okay.”

Noya was visibly relieved, his shoulders relaxing from where he didn’t realize he had tensed them. His smile got easier and his eyes less intense, going sleepy and wanting instead while they passed over Asahi’s features. 

“I’ll stop you if I don’t like somethin’, so don’t worry, okay?” he murmured. The distance between their lips was shrinking, a fact both of them were privately grateful for. “And you stop me too, yeah? Promise?” 

“Promise,” Asahi breathed and both of them smiled, wide and shy and soft and warm. 

And then there wasn’t room for smiles because both of them were pressing forward to close the gap left between them. It was impossible to tell who kissed who first, only that their lips fit together perfectly and when Nishinoya licked into his mouth, Asahi let him. A pair of small hands passed over broad shoulders and down over a plush chest and when deft fingers started working at the row of buttons holding the currently unforgivable brown shirt together, Noya got an encouraging squeeze from the hands on his hips in response. 

A few centimeters at a time, Asahi’s white undershirt came into view. Yū was too busy working his tongue into the other man’s mouth to admire the gentle curve of his soft muscle - at least with his eyes. Instead he let his fingers appreciate it, pads pressing in and sliding up, feeling along the dip between his rounded pecs. _Fuck,_ Asahi felt good, against him and under him. Noya found the bud of his nipple beneath the thin cotton and circled it with the edge of his thumb; Asahi whined in response and _fuck_ if that didn’t go straight to his dick, which twitched between his legs. 

“Nnnn,” Noya moaned and sucked Asahi’s tongue into his mouth just as he rolled his hips forward. 

\----

Oh god, he was going to die. 

In the best way ever - Asahi had zero complaints - but he was certain that with his heart beating so fast, that outcome was inevitable. His pulse thrummed under his skin and it jumped when Noya ground forward, the impossible heat between his legs suddenly against the strained fly of Asahi’s jeans. That sensation was enough to do him in but when accompanied by the feeling of _Nishinoya sucking on his tongue,_ he was pretty sure he was just going to spontaneously combust. 

He didn’t though, which he considered a small miracle. Instead he pushed a hand up Yū’s back, mapped the curvature of his spine while the other edged up over his ribs. His lover’s hands were careful when they traced his shoulders and took his button-down with them. It slid down his arms and he sat forward to help, pressing the two of them closer; Noya responded with a heady moan and eagerly cast the garment aside so that he could feel back up along Asahi’s biceps. 

It wasn’t like he worked out _constantly,_ he wasn’t built lean and muscular like Noya was, but lifting weights had the added benefit of helping his anxiety when he got too inside his own head (plus, he could do it from the privacy of his own apartment). Nishinoya seemed to enjoy the muscle that was there, strength that laid dormant until he worked at kneading bread or hauling around bolts of fabric or-- 

Or keeping his boyfriend in his lap, an arm wrapped around his waist so that one broad hand could slip under the hem of his t-shirt. While Asahi was content to move slowly, Noya seemed less willing to be patient; he arched up into their kiss and pulled at the white cotton over Asahi’s stomach, wrenching it out of the waistband of his jeans. His partner gasped when the chilled air hit his skin, even with the trail of fur that led to his fly. The fucking _sound_ Yū made when he touched the soft plane of his lover’s abdomen was somewhere between a moan and a breath; it was primal and hungry and it shot straight down Asahi’s spine, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath to cope with the headrush. 

Noya didn’t pull away from their eager kisses until he had successfully navigated the garment up and off and tossed it beside its friend on the floor. When he leaned back into the support of Asahi’s arms, his bright irises had been darkened by his blown-out pupils and heavy eyelids, sights trailing over the curve of Asahi’s neck where it met his shoulder. 

“ _Fuck,_ you’re pretty,” he breathed and Asahi felt himself flush scarlet when reverent hands petted through the curls on his chest. A gentle, explorative touch passed over his nipples and he shivered; it drew another sound from his partner, a whiny, heady noise of desperation that escaped Yū’s throat. It was followed by a second, this one lower in tenor, when those slim hips rolled forward against him once more. 

“ _Ah,”_ Asahi gasped, eyes momentarily fluttering shut. A second roll and he let a low moan of his own rumble out of his chest. 

“Hey, Asahi,” Noya’s voice was gentle but hoarse, almost winded. Asahi opened his eyes again to find Yū’s trained on his, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed a deep pink. “You wanted to see, right?” 

Asahi’s throat went dry when he saw Nishinoya’s hands reach back over his own shoulders to grab at his shirt. The hem had already ridden up a few inches, just enough to expose a pale strip of skin on his stomach. That intense, copper gaze didn’t leave his until the white cotton was pulled up over touchably soft hair. 

The shirt dropped to the floor.

Asahi’s breath left him. 

Nishinoya was beautiful. Not beautiful like a model (although he was that too, especially when his eyes went half-lidded like that), nor like a flower or butterfly (though he could be mistaken for the same kind of delicate if a person only admired the protrusion of his collarbones or the slope of his shoulders). 

He was beautiful like a sunset, flushed pink and red and glowing gold in the dim incandescence that illuminated his bedroom. He was beautiful like a thunderstorm, coiled strength in the muscles beneath the skin stretched over his wiry frame. He was beautiful like a bonfire, a self-contained inferno crackling with energy and heat. His eyes held the intensity of the sun when they stared up through the dark strokes of his lashes. It probably said something about Asahi that that look went straight to his gut, a twist of want so sharp he could practically taste it.

Asahi let his gaze drop over the line of Noya’s sternum, taking in the slight swell of his chest and the pert, pinkish-brown nipples that were pebbling in the open air. Each one was decorated by a pair of silver orbs, one on either side. The sight and accompanying realization went straight to his libido, girth straining against the zipper in his jeans. 

Soft brown eyes lifted to meet their sharper counterparts. 

“You’re beautiful, Noya,” he murmured. The blush and the playful, lopsided little smile he was rewarded with threatened to make him pass out. 

“Call me _Yū_.” 

[Continuation [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237827).]

\----

After both of them had come down, breathing leveled and bodies exhausted, Asahi pulled himself away to take a shower. Noya had convinced him to stay the night; he insisted that there wasn’t really a need for _pajamas_ when they had just spent an hour tangled in each other, but managed (under duress) to unearth an oversized t-shirt and a pair of loose basketball shorts to fill the void. It had been a long day for him and by the time his behemoth boyfriend returned from the bathroom, toweling off his damp hair, the bike messenger was dozing under the quilt. Asahi admired him as he drew near, padding as quietly as he could over to the futon in the corner. 

“Noya,” he whispered, a musical little croon that slipped past his lips while he lowered himself to the floor. “Did you fall asleep?” 

“Nnn,” the figure beneath him murmured when a big hand touched his shoulder through the blanket. “I _told_ you, Asahi,”--even with the put-on irritation, Nishinoya’s soft, sleepy voice was adorable--”you can call me _Yū_.” A lopsided smirk pressed into his cheek and he rolled onto his back. It looked like he was shifting his attention to Asahi above him, but those bright eyes stayed firmly shut, stuck with exhaustion. 

Asahi smiled fondly, then leaned in close. 

“Okay, _Yū_.” 

It was mean, the amount of emphasis he put on the single syllable, the way he made his breath just barely ghost against the shell of Nishinoya’s ear. It was mean and he knew it, so when a wide, amused smile pushed high into the smaller man’s cheeks, Asahi’s only grew. 

“I walked right into that one.” 

“You did.” 

Noya peeked one eye open. “Felt it right in my _dick,_ too.” He did not hide his amusement when Asahi turned a vibrant shade of fuchsia and pressed his face into the towel hung around his neck. Instead he laughed, low in his throat and quieted by sleep, and scooted over to make room. 

The blanket was drawn back and Asahi climbed into the barely-big-enough futon to slot himself in against Nishinoya. It was easy to forget, somehow, how small he was until they were touching, his body dwarfed by Asahi’s bulk. The two of them did an awkward sort of shuffle to find the right place: Asahi stuck out his arm to try laying under Yū’s shoulder, then waist, then finally settled for taking his hand; Nishinoya shimmied to find the right position until they were comfortable, legs overlapped and hands clasped tenderly between them. 

Nishinoya was always beautiful, but in the low golden light from the paper lamp, he made a very sweet picture. His hair had dried downy soft and tousled into something quietly wild and messy. His eyes were heavy and unfocused, his expression lax and blissful. It didn’t matter that he was just wearing a baggy t-shirt - if he had been an ad in a magazine, Asahi would have bought whatever it was selling. 

It had been years since he had painted, but his fingers itched for a brush. 

“Did you have fun?” 

The question made him blink back to the present, refocusing on the beautiful boy in front of him.

“Hm?” 

“Did you have fun?” Noya asked again, voice just as soft as the first time. He was stroking a fingertip gingerly along the edge of Asahi’s middle digit, his gaze unfocused and sleepy in the direction of the larger man’s chest. “Tonight, with the kids and everything.” 

“I did,” Asahi said definitively, but not until after taking a moment to consider. For all his trepidation going into it, he really had enjoyed himself. “A lot of fun.” 

Yū smiled, a slow, sweet expression that passed over his face like a shaft of sunlight before a cloud cast a flickering shadow. 

“I’m sorry about the-- what happened after the movie.” 

The words were quiet but heavy. Asahi felt the sentiment settle on the futon between them and had the urge to shove it away. Something told him his response needed to be careful, though; no one ever would have accused him of being brusque, exactly, but everyone had their moments of emotional ineptitude and this needed to not be one of those. 

“I’m really glad you woke up,” he murmured and maybe that _wasn’t_ the right answer because Noya flinched with his eyebrows and furrowed his lips a little. His pointer finger stilled, pad against the middle knuckle of Asahi’s, and the internal debate over whether or not to reach for him only lasted about three seconds. 

“I don’t know… as much as I need to know,” he said and took Noya’s fingertip between his pointer and middle fingers, “ _yet,_ but I… I’m glad I learned how to test you, just in case.” 

Noya didn’t look entirely convinced. He fought his smile but ultimately let it overtake his lips when Asahi did a rhythmic tapping pattern against the inside of his knuckle joint to get his attention. 

“It’s good that you know. I try to keep on top of it, but stuff…” he trailed off and his expression fell again. “...happens. Like you saw.” 

Asahi had seen. He still saw it, sometimes, the images of Noya laid out on a Shibuya sidewalk - it didn't happen often, not since he had replaced those mental images with better ones. He took a moment to think over his response again and this time he let his hands move, half to help him process and half to distract them both. Broad, careful fingers guided Noya’s arm up until his right wrist was exposed from under the quilt, joint supported by a careful palm while the kanji tattooed on his skin was examined. 

Bright red lines spelled it out clear as day: 糖尿病の. Tōnyō-byō nō. _Diabetic._

“When did you get this?” he asked softly and traced a brush stroke with his thumb. A beat passed before he got a response.

“When I turned eighteen,” Yū murmured. “Before I moved to the city.” 

Asahi let his eyes trace over the characters again. They were complicated, but that made sense to him; life with the condition wasn’t simple, so it had a name to match. The moment was like memorizing a recipe, combining what he was reading with what he knew: the insulin pen, the tamagotchi, the cold sweat, the shakes, the seizure. The beautiful boy with bleach-blonde bangs who didn’t deserve it. 

“I was scared,” he admitted finally and swiped his thumb once along the column of red ink. “Both times.” 

When he looked up, Nishinoya wasn’t looking back. His eyes were downcast, not from sleep but from something that Asahi understood intimately, something that made his chest feel tight in the worst way. He swallowed and let Noya sit privately in his guilt while he shifted his grip. 

Two fingers pressed Yū’s wrist back into Asahi’s palm, two more hooking around his hand to hold it upright. The pads of two digits slid carefully over the lines of fate etched into his palm. His small hands were calloused in parts and delicate despite their strength, especially contrasted against the size of Asahi’s. He traced up over the insides of the joints, all the way to the tips of Noya’s pointer and middle fingers. 

Watching him test his blood sugar in the kitchen had been… strange. A foreign process that was somehow captivating, like the first time he had watched a stand mixer get taken apart, mechanisms exposed to the open air. This time he hadn’t asked for it though, hadn’t asked to see the boy in front of him without his protective casing - and the boy hadn’t asked for it either, hadn’t wanted it. Both of them had been thrust into that private moment unwillingly. Asahi found he didn’t regret it. 

“Will you teach me what to do, for next time?” He didn’t look, but he felt Noya’s gaze shift up to examine his neutral expression. Asahi’s eyes remained fixed on the digits suspended in the air in front of him, on the tiny, dark brown speckles that marred them. In arches along the edges of Yū’s fingertips were littered further proof of his condition: miniscule scabs and faint purple bruises from the punctures, the physical remnants of the _ka-chunk_ Asahi was growing familiar with. The blood had to come from somewhere, right?

“I was scared, but I felt like…” His eyes narrowed as he remembered Noya, shaking like a leaf and pawing desperately at the cupboard, fumbling with the bottle of juice. “...I felt like you were just as scared, and I didn’t know how to help.” 

Asahi slotted his fingers together with Nishinoya’s, grasped his hand firmly between both of his own and brought them to his chest. Finally, he looked up. The two of them made eye contact and there was something unreadable in Yū’s expression, his brows tightly cinched and his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“I don’t think I’m enough to keep you from being afraid, not when I’m such a mess myself. But at least if you’re gonna be scared, I want to be there. I want to make it a little easier for you if I can.” 

He kept his attention on those piercing copper eyes as he lowered his head, brought their hands to his mouth and planted a soft, lingering kiss against Noya’s knuckles. Asahi nudged his fingers from where they had curled until he could give the same treatment to their scarred tips. He watched through his lashes when the edges of those perfect lips quivered. 

“You’re enough,” Yū murmured, soft but assured, when his hand had been folded in against Asahi’s chest again. His other reached up so he could brush his fingers along the arch of the bigger man’s cheekbone, the rasp of stubble audible where the heel touched against his jaw. “You’re more than enough.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :D Comments fuel me, so please let me know if you enjoyed!
> 
> Also, let me know if anything made you uncomfortable! I am particularly open to criticism when it comes to how I have this part rated!

**Author's Note:**

> Next installment is already in the works! Coming soon. :D
> 
> The tattoo on Noya's wrist is 糖尿病の, the kanji for Tōnyō-byō nō. It translates to 'diabetic'. 
> 
> I share Noya's illness and this is my first time writing about it. I hope that it will be informative for some and, for those of you who can identify with Noya, that you will find this piece as cathartic to read as I am to write. There will be more relevant stuff in the next chapter!
> 
> I'm new at this but here have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/SystemicWrites).


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